From Across The Ocean
by GinnyNoTonic
Summary: This story follows Summer, Winter and Road Trip
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so here's the thing. This story has been kicking around on my computer since the back end of 2012. I didn't post it before because it's not finished, mostly because I wanted to go off and write stories with my own original characters. And I'm posting in now in the hope that you might find your way over to my blog and have a look at the original story I'm posting – you should be able to find it here: /p4oF66-9 Meanwhile, this story follows Summer, Winter and Road Trip; I hope you enjoy it though be warned, it does get a bit dark in places.**

FROM ACROSS THE OCEAN

CHAPTER 1

Lights shone from many of the windows of the large building; in the early evening darkness, the curtains had not yet been pulled, closing the occupants away from the rest of the wintery world. Someone on the outside, looking in, would see the shadowy shapes of nameless people occasionally moving, flitting in and out of their vision. Or not quite nameless.

The man stood, gazing thoughtfully at the lights. He felt sure he could make a good guess at the names of the people in that building and he did know, almost certainly, the name of one of the men inside; the man he had come to see; the man he had been desperate to talk to since that dreadful, heart-stopping day in the summer when the news travelled across the ocean to reach him; too late, always too late.

It had taken a while to find him, piecing together fragments of information gleaned from reluctant mouths. But he was quiet, he had bided his time; he had listened, he had bent the rules and taken chances. Of course, there had been that other unpleasantness – and its consequences - to deal with, to get over, first; his heart felt cold now, every time he thought of it, cold and emotionless. It had been justice, of a sort, not the justice of a court of law but revenge, cold and calculated, manipulated. And he was glad.

He could feel his heart beating in his chest despite the layers of clothing he wore to keep out the biting cold; he knew it was apprehension, almost fear. Now, after months of dreaming of this moment, he was only yards away from him and he was terrified. He bit his lip; he hadn't come all this way to bottle it at the last moment but the thought of walking those last few steps, knocking at the door, meeting him at last... suddenly his feet felt like lead, immovable.

Something drew his attention; somebody was pulling the curtains now, the brief outline of a man at one of the downstairs windows before the tall oblong of light was obliterated. He looked to the next window spilling light; sure enough, seconds later the figure appeared there although it stood for a moment motionless, a dark outline against the light as he talked to someone hidden from view. It gave the watcher a chance to look beyond the figure, into the room; he could see a fire, a real fire silently crackling in the grate, he could see signs of the season, candles and cards on the mantelpiece above the fire. He could see the tree, shinning with tiny lights catching the silver and gold glittering baubles and tinsel surrounding them. He bit his lip again, trying to suppress the memories of other cold Christmases, Christmases before the heat took over; now wasn't the time to let sentiment get the better of him.

He slipped his phone from his pocket and checked the time, 5.50pm; he wondered if they had eaten, he didn't particularly want to interrupt their meal. Almost on cue, his own stomach rumbled, loudly reminding him he hadn't eaten that day, his strung out nerves banishing all desire for food. He didn't really care, all his thoughts, all his focus had been on this moment, he thought, made no plans for anything beyond it. Yet now he was here, he was hesitating; suddenly he wasn't so sure anymore. Perhaps he should leave, just walk away and try and forget... everything, everyone.

He considered it, but only for a second; he had come so far, done so much, endured so much, to reach this point, it wasn't the time to let nerves get the better of him. He took a deep breath and walked forward towards the light that hung next to the front door


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

"I can't believe Chas didn't kick up more of a fuss," laughed Greg, leaning from the sofa, stretching his arm and pouring more wine into the two glasses Simon was holding out before passing the bottle on to Robbie. He flopped backwards, lounging along the full length of the sofa, his head in Finn's lap.

"I think Cain said something," said Aaron, holding out his glass to Robbie for a refill. "Are you sure we can't have lager?"

"No we can't, you heathen," answered Greg, "the red will go much better with the stew." He took his own full glass from Finn, sipping heartily. "I'll make a curry tomorrow and you can have lager with that."

"Hazel had a word too," put in Jackson. "That night in the Woollie... a couple of weeks ago... when they were singing. She told me afterwards," he added as he saw a quizzical look cross Aaron's face. "Sorry, I thought you knew."

"It doesn't matter," said Finn, "it's just amazing that you could all get away." He looked around at his friends, filling the comfortable living room of the Vicarage. Usually they spent their time in the huge kitchen and small, cosy den, but for Christmas, the living room had been decorated, the tree a bright oasis of fairy lights in the gently lit room. Little lights that caught the sparkling tinsel with candles between the cards on the mantelpiece and streamers colourfully criss-crossing the ceiling. Tonight Simon and Robbie occupied one of the sofas; Simon's folks were spending Christmas with his sister and her husband and their children. Robbie, he knew, didn't have any close family. His own parents were in France, Greg's not so far away, only in Newcastle, but for the festive season, like Simon's, they were all lost to the family Christmases of their straight siblings. Finn shrugged inwardly; he supposed that was only fair, he was always ridiculously busy at this time of the year and he was happy to be surrounded by his friends. "So your lot will be doing the Dingle madness," he continued, looking at Aaron who was sprawled on the floor in front of the fire. "Hazel?"

"Doing the Dingle madness," repeated Jackson, his tone resigned. "At least we won't be there to witness it this time."

"You don't seriously think they will have sobered up by the time we go back next week, do you?" asked Aaron

"Well no," agreed Jackson. "But I thought we could just sneak back home when weren't at their worst."

"Shit Jay!" laughed Aaron. "Have you not been round my family long enough to know they won't sober up until the 5th of January at the earliest?" He rolled from his back around onto his tummy and looked up at Jackson. "Besides, they are expecting us back for New Year."

"I don't think my liver will stand a Dingle New Year," groaned Jackson.

"Maybe you'd better not drink over Christmas in preparation," chuckled Finn, ducking as Jackson flung a cushion at him.

"I don't know what you're laughing at," smirked Aaron, "there's an invitation for all of you in the cards and stuff from Lisa. And Cain is expecting you," he added. "Oh and I wasn't supposed to tell you," he said as a final afterthought.

"Really? You're joking?" exclaimed Finn.

"That makes it sound like a royal command," said Simon, his words clashing with Finn's as they both spoke together.

Aaron shrugged. "Well if you can't make it, I don't want to be around when you tell him."

"Oh don't be daft," said Finn good naturedly, "of course we'd love to come."

"Good," grinned Aaron. "Sam and Samson will be away at Alice's folks so you can have their loft for a few days."

"How come I didn't know about any of these plans?" asked Jackson aggrieved.

"Cain didn't think you would be able to keep it a secret," said Aaron.

"An-nd," drawled Jackson, drawing the word out. "Who is it that just told them?"

"Ah, but it doesn't matter now that we're away from Emmerdale," replied Aaron smugly.

Jackson rolled away from the seat he was leaning against, rolled until he was on top of Aaron, tickling him.

"You are such a shite, Livesy," he gasped as his fingers moved rapidly, seeking the gaps in Aaron's defences, finding the sensitive spots, working them as Aaron squirmed, giggling, unable to help himself, under Jackson's intense attention.

"I'm going to check the dinner," said Greg, easing himself up from the sofa. "I'll bring another bottle back."

"I'll give you a hand," said Robbie, "or at least I'll get the wine," he added.

On the floor in front of the fire, Jackson and Aaron rolled to a halt, breathless with laughter as they paused before pulling themselves onto the sofa next to Finn.

Cutting across their laughter and conversation, the doorbell rang, echoing from the front door through the large building.

"I'll get it," said Greg, already half way out of the room.

"It'll be Mrs Atkinson," groaned Finn. "Tell her I'll do a rehearsal with the kids at ten tomorrow morning; that'll give them time for a run through before they get their costumes on.

Greg made his way to the front door; through the ornate glass panels, he could see the outline of a figure. He had time for the thought to flit through his mind that it was too tall and lacking the bulk to be Mrs Atkinson. He pulled open the door.

A tall, slender young man stood in front of him, well bundled in a heavy coat and scarf against the biting winter cold.

"Hi," he smiled. "I'm looking for Aaron Livesy."

There was a slight unfamiliarity to his accent that in his surprise, Greg couldn't place.

"Cain said I would find him here," he continued. "Friend of a friend," he smiled apologetically and shrugged a little as though he felt a little awkward.

Surprised—while he was used to many and varied folk arriving at the Vicarage door, Greg could never have imagined any one of them asking for Aaron, their visitor. But his natural good manners and the ethos of hospitality that he and Finn embraced, took over.

"Hi, I'm Greg, come in, I'll get him." Greg held the door open, letting the stranger into the porch. He turned back towards the hall and called to Aaron.

In the sitting room, Aaron heard Greg calling his name although he didn't, at first, realise he was calling from the porch rather than the kitchen. Taking his glass of wine with him, he reluctantly left the sofa, only seeing Greg watching for him as he stepped into the hall, registering his nod, inviting him forward.

The figure behind Greg was in the shadows at first and half hidden from Aaron's view by Greg; it was only as he stepped into the porch, into the light, that he saw him.

The sound of his glass shattering on the black and white tiled floor suddenly filled the space and echoed between them.

"I'm sorry," whispered the stranger, "we're very alike...identical. But I had to see you and I couldn't think of any other way. I'm Noah Chynoweth; Archie's brother."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

The sound of the shattering glass brought Finn and Jackson from the sitting room, Robbie and Simon close on their heels. It took them only seconds to reach the other men, to take in the scene in front of them; all of them still, silent, only Aaron and Noah staring at each other, only Aaron trembling a little.

Time stood still, tension filled the air; memories swirled between them, different memories, different experiences but linked by the gossamer threads of fate and circumstance.

Greg recovered first, stepping towards Aaron. "Finn! This is Archie's brother." He nodded towards Aaron, standing immobile, just staring.

Finn moved then, putting his hands on Aaron's shoulders, gently steering him towards Jackson. "Go back through," said Finn gently.

"I'll put the kettle on, make coffee," said Robbie, "or would you prefer tea?" he added, looking towards Noah.

"Coffee's fine, thanks, just milk," said the other man, his eyes flicking warily between the men.

Robbie nodded and turned back towards the kitchen; Simon followed him, leaving Noah with Greg and Finn in the porch. For the moment, no one thought to mop up the spreading wine and broken glass on the floor.

Finn held out his hand to Noah. "I'm Finn," he said. "Finn Nicholson; I'm a minister at the Abbey here."

"Noah Chynoweth," the other man took Finn's hand and shook it. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean..." he paused, his voice catching. "I just need to speak to Aaron."

"He'll be fine," said Finn gently, "just give him a minute. Let me take your coat."

Noah dropped the small rucksack he carried from his back then shrugged out of his coat and scarf, wordlessly handing them all to Finn.

"Come through," said Finn, leading the way, pausing only briefly to hang up the coat and scarf on top of others balanced precariously on hooks in the hall.

Aaron and Jackson were sitting close to each other on one of the sofas; Jackson looked up as they entered, while Aaron's gaze was focused on something, nothing, on the floor in front of him.

Finn directed Noah to the other sofa, a small smile of encouragement touching his lips. He glanced towards Aaron; he was pale, unconsciously biting his lip, shock clear on his face; the shock of coming face to face with a ghost.

Robbie and Simon returned; silently Robbie passed round the mugs of coffee, Simon followed, a plate of chocolate biscuits in his hands. He held them out towards Aaron and Jackson.

"Biscuits before dinner?" whispered Aaron, looking up at his friend, a watery smile briefly flitting across his lips.

"It's an emergency," answered Simon easily, letting the fingers of his free hand rest on Aaron's shoulder for a second. He moved on to where Noah was sitting, nursing the mug of coffee Robbie had passed to him. He shook his head at the proffered plate. "Go on," said Simon, encouragingly, "choccy biccies are the ultimate comfort food!" He waggled the plate in front of Noah again; this time the other man lifted a biscuit.

"Right," said Finn, sitting down on the sofa next to Noah, twisting, tucking one leg under himself, turning towards him. "Noah, let's do the introductions properly." He glanced at the young man beside him, wondering how, why, he had appeared here, of all places, three days before Christmas. "You met Aaron briefly at the door; beside him is Jackson, his partner."

Jackson looked towards Noah, only nodding warily.

"Robbie and Simon," Finn continued, nodding towards each of them in turn, "and Greg, my partner."

"Cain would never have told you where Aaron was," said Greg slowly, suspiciously.

Next to Finn, Noah had the grace to blush. "I hacked into the police computers," he said simply.

"What! Why?" asked Greg voicing the question before anyone else.

Noah shrugged. "They wouldn't tell me; DCI Thompson, Sergeant Pengelly, none of them. Only your first name, Aaron and that you came from Yorkshire, so I hacked them, found your name, address, found you on Facebook, found you all and read you pages," he added. "Went to Emmerdale and discovered you were away for Christmas—that pub is a great place to pick up gossip—and it wasn't hard to work out you would either be in Hotton or here. And you were away too so there was a good chance you were all here." He looked towards Robbie and Simon.

"You hacked the police computers... Facebook? You know where we live?" asked Robbie incredulously, an uncomfortable cold chill creeping the length of his spine.

Noah said nothing, only shrugging apologetically.

"But that doesn't explain why?" said Finn, puzzled. He shook his head a little; it was hard trying to get it all straight in his mind.

"I need you to tell me about Archie," said Noah, looking directly at Aaron, "what happened."

"But didn't the police tell you?" questioned Robbie.

"Yes, they told me," said Noah bitterly, his voice full of pain. "They told me that that bastard raped him so viciously that he bled to death." His voice caught, he paused, collecting himself. "But you were with him; you were the last person to see him alive,"

"Can't you leave it at that?" asked Jackson harshly.

Noah turned towards him; he shook his head, a tiny movement of sorrow and despair.

"Part of me died with him," he bit his lip, gathering his thoughts. "It's a twin thing; it's like we were linked, always, even though I was thousands of miles away. And now there is part of me missing, as much as if I'd lost an arm or leg, and always will be."

"Where were you?" asked Greg, interested.

"Australia," Noah sighed. "I got out after...well I got out, I begged Archie to come too, but he never would."

"Ah that explains it," breathed Greg, almost to himself. "Your accent," he added, "I noticed it when you first came to the door but couldn't place it."

"I've been there seven years," Noah volunteered. "You can't help but pick it up a bit. I came home for Archie's funeral," he paused. "Then I was in France for a few months."

Aaron reached for Jackson's hand, finding his fingers, linking his with them, entwining them; he squeezed gently, seeking to reassure him

"France?" asked Aaron, the first words he had spoken directly to Noah

"Business," answered Noah, eyeing Aaron warily.

"You must've been very young when you went to Australia," said Greg.

"Seventeen," agreed Noah. "I'm twenty four now."

"Not here," said Aaron suddenly. He sat forward, resolute, his decision made. "Let's go for a walk or something." He looked at Noah.

Beside him, Jackson caught his arm. "Aaron? Are you sure? You don't have to."

"I know," Aaron smiled at him. "But I didn't spend all those hours spilling my guts to Dora only to wimp out the first time I'm asked about it. Besides..." he paused, lowering his voice, "... besides he deserves to know. Don't worry; I'm fine; it was just a shock, seeing him."

Jackson breathed, trying to quell the anxiety churning in his stomach. Aaron had always coped better with it than he had. He smiled at him.

Aaron returned his smile. "I need to get my jacket," he said, "come with me a minute." He held out his hand, pulling Jackson up with him.

Nobody spoke for a few seconds after they left the room.

"I'm sorry," said Noah quietly, "crashing your Christmas, dragging it all up again."

"Don't worry," said Finn gently, "it's fine; it's understandable that you needed to know."

"Why now though?" asked Simon, "why six months after it happened?"

"Like I said, I was in France," replied Noah. He didn't look at any of them, didn't meet their eyes. "And I've been...ill. This was the first chance I had."

"It was pretty hard for both of them afterwards," continued Simon.

"I'm sorry," repeated Noah. "It's all been such a nightmare...the worst six months of my life." He took a deep shuddering breath; a deep breath that they could all hear as he struggled to control his emotions.

"Aaron has never told anyone except the police and Jackson exactly what happened," said Finn, "but your brother's death was hard for him too. They were kind to each other in an awful situation."

Noah nodded but didn't say anything.

Even in the dim light, Finn could see the glitter of unshed tears in Noah's eyes. He could understand why Aaron didn't want to speak to him in front of the rest of them, but that wasn't going to stop him worrying.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

"It was just the shock of seeing him," repeated Aaron as he pulled Jackson into their bedroom and closed the door behind him. "It's like seeing his double... Archie's. But honestly, I'm fine; don't worry about me Jay, I want to do this." He stood in front of Jackson, looking into his eyes. "It must be awful for him… and you know what it's like… the pictures in your head."

Slowly Jackson nodded. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry… I wasn't thinking…"

"It's okay," breathed Aaron, pulling him close, into his arms, hugging him. He found his lips with his own and kissed him, hard; the curls of his beard scraping across his face. Breaking apart at last, Aaron cupped Jackson's face with his two hands, looking intently into his eyes but saying nothing more; he knew Jackson understood really.

He pulled a hoodie over his head then grabbed a thick jacket before opening the door again; holding Jackson's hand, he clattered back down the stairs to the sitting room.

"It'll be fine, Jay, really," he paused at the closed door ahead of him and turned to Jackson, looking into his eyes.

"I know," whispered Jackson, sliding his arms around Aaron's hips, pulling him closer.

"I'll be as quick as I can," replied Aaron, relaxing into his embrace.

Jackson shook his head. "Take as long as you need," he said, beginning to push Aaron away from him. He smiled; a smile that was struggling to be brave, a smile that gave Aaron his blessing.

"I'll get your coat," said Finn to Noah as Aaron and Jackson came back into the room.

"Thanks," muttered Noah, placing his empty coffee mug on the floor.

Leaving Aaron's side, Jackson moved towards Noah; he held out his hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't very welcoming; it was a difficult time for us all, but that's no excuse for me to take it out on you."

"No worries," said Noah, clasping his hand. "You didn't need me turning up here, dragging up unpleasant memories."

They shook hands, holding each other's eyes as they did so. Noah's lips moved slightly; a silent 'thank you'.

A matter of minutes later, Aaron and Noah were outside the Vicarage, their steps taking them up the long dark drive, the only light coming from tiny lights set into the brickwork at the edge of the driveway.

Noah glanced behind him, at the lights still showing at the windows; he wasn't on the outside looking in anymore; he had taken the first step, had faced the first of his fears; he had met them, he had asked. Now all he had to do was cope with hearing.

Following the curving path of the driveway, they walked in silence; as they neared the end of the drive, neared its entrance to the road they could see the lights of the town. The warm orange glow of the streetlights; the multi-coloured strings of Christmas lights weaving their way backwards and forwards across the roads of the town centre until they met at the large tree that dominated the small square. Aaron led the way a short distance along the street, along an old stone wall that appeared to glow a warm pink even in the cold of the winter evening. He stopped by a door.

They hadn't spoken as they had been walking, keeping pace with each other, Noah content to follow where Aaron led.

"D'you mind?" asked Aaron quietly as he came to a halt, standing while Noah took a moment to realise where he was suggesting going.

Noah looked at the huge door beside them, standing open in welcome. In the porch an ornate arrangement of flowers stood shoulder high on a wooden stand; rich red flowers, blood red flowers, their heady perfume adding fragrance to the winter air. A glass door separated the porch from the body of the building, looking through, he could see people; some wandering, admiring, some sitting quietly in the pews.

He shook his head, hiding his surprise. "No, it's fine," he whispered. He was prepared to go wherever Aaron wanted; he needed to talk to him, he needed him to talk and if he wanted to come here rather than some cosy pub, he would go along with it. He followed him through the glass door into the warmth of the building.

Saying nothing more, Aaron walked along the main aisle; soft music played in the background, quietly filling the silence yet not intruding into the peace. He passed all the wooden pews then turned, leading Noah into a smaller side chapel, empty of people. To one side a wire stand held rows of glowing candles; Aaron took an unlit one, lighting it from a candle already burning then fixed it in the stand. Reaching into his pocket, he dropped a few coins into the box marked for donations.

For a few minutes both men stood unspeaking, staring at the small dancing flames, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I lit a candle for Archie the last time I was here," said Aaron at last, breaking the silence. He turned and looked at the young man beside him, the image of the man he still thought of often. "What do you want to know?" he asked quietly.

Noah moved away from Aaron, taking the few steps to the front row of wooden chairs that were arranged in lines across the small chapel. He sat, his fingers twisting a plain gold band on his finger.

Aaron sat beside him; he said nothing, only waiting.

"Did he say anything?" breathed Noah. "Before he died?" He didn't look at Aaron, his attention given over to his own hands.

"He just went to sleep," said Aaron quietly. "He knew he was bleeding... he said he had bled before; neither of us realised it was so serious. He gave me my clothes to put back on and we lay down as close as we could to each other. When I heard the police outside the shed—I didn't know who it was—I thought it might be Tiny back..." Aaron paused, memories flooding his mind; he closed his eyes for a moment, his teeth biting hard into his lower lip, trying to steady his breathing. "I tried to reach him through the bars, tried to shake him awake... he didn't wake up... my hands touched his jeans, they were soaking. I yelled and yelled... Sergeant Pengelly came in first, but the paramedics were only seconds behind him. I don't think he woke up at all," Aaron finished quietly.

Noah nodded. "That's what Sergeant Pengelly told me; he didn't wake up and died soon after arriving at the hospital."

"I'm so sorry," breathed Aaron. He turned to look at Noah, searching his face, seeing the unsettling likeness to the man he had known so briefly, but seeing too the differences. Noah's face was a little thinner; the skin of his face still bore the faded colour of time spent in a sunnier climate.

"No," Noah sighed, he rubbed his hands across his face. "I'm sorry you got caught up with my sick family."

They were silent then, lost for the moment in their memories, the pain of the past touching them both.

"Oh God!" exclaimed Noah quietly. "I wish he'd been able to get away from them; I asked him again and again to come to Australia, even offered to pay his fare; but he couldn't or wouldn't."

"What d'you mean?" asked Aaron.

"I think they had something on him, Tiny and the Boss; he never said, but nothing else makes any sense." Noah stared up at the ceiling; he had to ask him, this is what he came for; he needed to know. "Aaron... I'm sorry... can you tell me what they did to him?"

For a minute there was silence, Noah thought he wasn't going to answer; then he heard the slightest intake of steadying breath.

"It was Tiny, all Tiny," said Aaron quietly. "There was a small harbour; a shed with a cave behind it and bars..."

"I know the place," interrupted Noah, explaining no further.

Aaron nodded. "He locked me inside the cave, left Archie to keep an eye on me. Archie was scared of him; he'd already told me that Tiny had raped him before; said he'd never told anyone before."

"He never told me," a half sob caught Noah's voice as he spoke, "at least, not in so many words, but I knew... I knew," he finished, his voice barely above a whisper. "How did he come to tell you?"

"On the boat, my phone rang; Fetch got it from my shorts before I did," Aaron stopped, seeing the puzzled look on Noah's face. "I'd got caught up in their robbery—I'd seen their faces so they took me with them. I was tied up, gagged, but I was sick and it went everywhere when they untied me; they made me take my shorts off, gave me a bucket of water to get clean with... then my phone rang. It was Jackson. Fetch got it and wanted to know who he was. Later Archie told me that Tiny hated queers—he said it was funny because he would fuck you as soon as look at you..." Aaron paused, remembering the conversation, the warm breeze, the swell of the boat. The horror.

"Then he told me... that he was straight and Tiny had raped him." Aaron looked at the man beside him, at Archie's identical twin, at the grim set of his mouth, at the unshed tears glistening in his eyes.

"So after we'd been in the cave—shed—place some time, I don't know how long, Tiny came back... he'd been drinking. He made Archie suck him off, he..." Aaron stopped speaking, his words grinding to a halt.

"What?" asked Noah harshly. "Just tell me."

"He fucked his face and made him swallow his cum," said Aaron abruptly. He paused, taking a noisy breath. "He held his head on him, not letting him breathe as he choked it down. Then he made us undress... made me suck Archie. Then he raped him."

Noah slowly nodded, taking in all Aaron said. "What about you? Did he rape you?"

Aaron shook his head. "I think the Boss told him not to..." he closed his eyes a moment; his surroundings drifted away from him, the Abbey with its Christmas music floating through the air receded and he could hear again the Boss's voice issuing instructions 'don't damage the goods...don't damage the goods... the goods;' he had been the goods.

"He finger fucked my arse as I sucked Archie off," continued Aaron, his voice low, "I tried not to... I tried to pretend, but he hit me and Archie said it was okay... just to do it. Then when Archie was close to coming, he pulled my head away and made me use my hands... he put his hands over mine... when Archie was done he shoved his fingers in my mouth when they were covered with his cum." He stopped speaking and closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, control the emotions, the memories brought vividly to life once again.

For a while, neither man spoke, both lost in their own thoughts.

Noah could hear Aaron's noisy breathing beside him, rapid, shuddering breaths that he was trying to control. He could feel the tremble of his body against his own and suddenly knew the depths of the other man's distress. He shook his head; he hadn't realised... this wasn't how he imagined it; he had been so wrapped up in his own pain, his own loss, he hadn't foreseen the pain of the man beside him at the memories he had forced him to drag to the forefront of his mind again, relive.

"I'm sorry... so sorry," breathed Noah, "if only..."

"Don't!" said Aaron, interrupting him, stopping him. "It happened... but it's in the past now and we're coping with the present it's left us. You couldn't have done anything; you were thousands of miles away. Don't..." he paused, trying to recollect Dora's words, paraphrasing, "...don't conjure guilt for yourself where there is none, thinking that if you're feeling bad the overall situation will improve."

Noah closed his eyes; Aaron was right, he had been thousands of miles away, there was nothing he could have done about it at the time. He hugged himself, held his arms close against his body against the chill of the lengthening evening and felt again the pain, the physical, gnawing, aching reminder, the scars that he had carried with him since the autumn. No, he hadn't been able to do anything at the time, but since then... he hadn't been sure, he had been plagued by doubts but it had been like a rollercoaster—unstoppable. And now he was glad... glad he had see him, seen all of them, die.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Jackson lay curled up on the sofa, his head on Simon's lap; he had both hands tucked into his armpits, hugging himself, stopping himself looking at his watch. Again. It felt as though it had been hours since he had watched them walk out of the Vicarage Yet he knew it was much less; an hour, if as long as that.

He wondered what they were talking about, how much Aaron was telling him. He was the only one of his friends or family to whom Aaron had told all the details of his captivity, who knew the full horror of those twenty-four hours. Now he was probably having to share it again. Re-living it.

Simon's fingers rubbed the back of his neck and strayed to the soft skin of his shoulders where the collar of his tee shirt and jumper gaped open; the calm, repetitive movement soothed Jackson, gave him something mindless to focus on for the seconds his thoughts left Aaron and Noah. They had switched the television on; it was quietly chattering in the corner of the room but no one was paying it any attention. Robbie was sitting the other side of Simon, leaning against him, his feet tucked under him. He had a newspaper spread open on his lap but the words swam meaninglessly in front of his gaze. Greg had disappeared to the kitchen; the smell of the cooking dinner wafting through to them had reminded him of it, but he certainly didn't feel like eating at the moment and he guessed nobody else would.

Finn had excused himself a few minutes ago; he had tried to watch the early evening news; he had picked up a pile of notes but couldn't see the words scrawled in his own hand in front of him. In his bedroom, he stripped off his jumper, his shirt, dropping them on the bed; for a moment he let his fingers trail over the sheet, picking up the tee shirt that Greg had worn in bed the previous night. He twisted his fingers through the thin material, catching it to his face; it still smelt of him, of them. He stood for a moment, needing the peace, gathering strength. He sighed, at last tucking the tee shirt under the pillow on Greg's side of the bed; he moved to the wardrobe, taking a plain black shirt from it, he slipped it on over the colourful vest tee shirt he was already wearing. He took a clean white collar from a draw and fixed it in place before pulling the V-necked jumper back on. Closing the door quietly behind him he moved easily down the stairs, making his way to the kitchen first.

Greg was chopping a carrot to within an inch of its life when Finn came into the room.

"Soup," he replied in response to Finn's unspoken question.

"Chicken soup?" asked Finn

"Just vegetable," shrugged Greg, "no stock. But it's better than sitting around, waiting." He looked at Finn, noticing his change of clothes. "You're going to get them then? You think he'll be there?"

"Where else does Aaron run to when he's here?" questioned Finn quietly, sliding into Greg's embrace.

"Look after him... both of them," breathed Greg.

"I will," said Finn, hugging Greg a little closer. "Will you tell Jackson? I don't want to..."

"Of course," interrupted Greg, understanding.

Finn hugged him hard, a last connection before he broke apart. Grabbing a large, shapeless but warm coat from amongst those on the hooks, he disappeared out of the back door.

Greg flung the last of the chopped vegetables into the pot adding a couple of stock cubes before clamping the lid on and sitting it on top of the Aga to do what it wanted; it was the repetitive mechanics of chopping the vegetables that had soothed him; he didn't really care about it now, too many other thoughts were crowding into his mind.

He flipped the switch on the kettle and set about making four mugs of coffee. Tea, he thought as he spooned the instant granules into the mugs; it should be tea for shock, but none of them drunk it.

A few minutes later he carried two mugs in each hand into the living room, handing them round to Robbie, Simon and Jackson as he uncurled from Simon's lap.

"Finn's gone to the Abbey" said Greg, "he's sure that will be where they have gone," he explained.

"Makes sense," said Robbie.

"Can I use your phone, Greg?" asked Jackson, stretching as he let the blood flow unrestricted once again to legs that had been cramped into one position for too long. "My mobile is almost out of charge."

"Course," answered Greg quickly. "Go through to the den, use the one there, take as long as you need."

Jackson eased himself from the sofa, pins and needles now tingling the length of his leg. He took his mobile with him; he needed it to find the number. He was okay, really, he thought; he just needed to hear her voice, her calming sense.

Greg, Robbie and Simon watched his retreating figure; disbelief haunted them all, disbelief and shock that something they had thought safely in the past and over, had come back into their lives in a most unexpected way.

...

Finn took the short cut through the gardens to the Abbey; it was dark, pitch dark, but he knew the way intimately, like the back of his hand. He was sure he would find them somewhere in the Abbey... he was almost sure.

He let himself in through the small side door; although it was dark outside and had been for some time, it was still early, the evening life of the Abbey continuing, busy in the days before Christmas.

He shrugged his coat from his shoulders, carrying it over one arm as he wandered into the main part of the building, the magnificent nave; although he knew he wouldn't find them there. Instinct guided his steps, led him to one of the smaller chapels off the transept. He saw them then; he couldn't help letting a sigh of relief escape... if he had been wrong he wouldn't have had a clue where to look.

He slid into one of the seats at the rear of the chapel; he didn't want to be too close, to interrupt or invade their privacy. Only to be there if they needed him; needed someone. He was content to sit, more peaceful now, waiting. He closed his eyes briefly, his mind repeating familiar words of gratitude and thanks.

A dozen rows in front of him, the silence stretched between Aaron and Noah, not uncomfortably, only both of them lost to their own thoughts, own memories, own distress. Absently, Noah twisted the gold band he wore; so obviously a wedding band but he wore it on the smallest finger of his left hand.

"Are you..." began Aaron, his attention caught by the movement.

"No," replied Noah shortly, "I'm not married; I don't do relationships, I do business," he laughed, a short bitter laugh totally lacking in humour. "And probably not that anymore."

"What d'you mean?" asked Aaron, puzzled. "Oh! I'm sorry; forget I asked that," he added awkwardly.

Noah sighed. "No, you're alright," the sudden bitterness gone from his voice. Perhaps he had a right to know, he thought; perhaps it would help to talk, tell him; after all, he had just relived his own nightmare at the request of a stranger.

"These days I shit into a bag," he continued quietly. There! He had said it - aloud! He hated it; hated the thought of it, the look of it, the smell of it but every time he looked at it he reminded himself, it was a small price to pay. "I was... ill, the doctors did the operation, the colostomy, to save my life although at the time I didn't care if I lived or died."

"And the ring?" asked Aaron.

"My mother's; she died in October, heart attack. I didn't see her after Archie's funeral. I went to France straight afterwards and then, like I said, I was ill."

"I went to his grave," said Aaron quietly, "on the day of his funeral."

Noah looked at him then, surprised.

"It was a few hours after the service... I just wanted to pay my respects... it's a nice place..."

"It is," agreed Noah, turning a little in his seat, catching sight for the first time of the still and silent figure in the rows behind them. "Oh! There's your friend."

Aaron turned then; a smile touching his lips as he saw the reassuring presence sitting quietly, his head bowed.

"He's a good man, if you need to talk," said Aaron quietly.

Noah shook his head. "Thanks, but I just needed to hear about Archie, I'm okay."

Aaron nodded as they stood in unspoken agreement and began to walk back towards Finn. He heard Noah's words but he wasn't sure he believed them, there was something that didn't ring true, something—a lot probably—that he wasn't saying. And there was something niggling at the back of Aaron's mind that was eluding him for the moment, something that he couldn't quite grasp.

Finn stood as the two men came towards him, scrutinising their faces. No tears, no raging emotions; he smiled gently at them.

"We're okay," said Aaron quickly, reassuring his friend.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," said Finn, "if you need longer..."

"No, that's fine," said Noah quickly. "It was good to speak to Aaron, he's told me..." he paused, his voice catching. "I'm glad that Archie's last memories, last moments were with you and not that bastard. Sorry," he added, remembering where he was, the building that surrounded him.

"You're forgiven," smiled Finn.

"Am I... am I though?" said Noah quietly, a scornful breath escaping him.

"There is always the potential for forgiveness," murmured Finn quietly. He looked at Noah; stopping, he reached out, his fingers coming to rest gently on Noah's arm.

"I didn't forgive... why should I expect forgiveness?" asked Noah quietly.

Finn stopped and looked at Noah, realising the conversation had veered away from what was intended as a slightly light hearted response to his profanity. He glanced at Aaron, not sure if he had heard Noah's words; hoping he had and would give them a moment; hoping he hadn't but would understand.

"D'you mind if I stay here a little longer," said Aaron, "I'll catch you up in a minute or two." He wasn't sure... he thought he had caught a look, an expression on Finn's eyes.

"No worries," smiled Finn, breathing a silent sigh of relief, as his eyes flicked quickly over Aaron's face. For a moment he watched as Aaron retraced his steps towards the rack holding the small candles; he watched for a few seconds longer as Aaron only stood and stared at the dancing flames.

Finn turned back to Noah, waiting silently, patiently, at his side.

"Words..." he mused, almost talking to himself, "words can be powerful... they can be shared. They can be shared with many or with one; they can stay with the many that hear them or be kept safe and protected by the one who hears them." He paused and looked at Noah. "Sometimes forgiveness has to start with forgiving ourselves and sometimes forgiving ourselves is the hardest thing to do."

They walked a little further, out of the small chapel and back into the main body of the Abbey before they paused again.

"It never fails to amaze me," Finn continued, not worrying that as yet he did not get an answer, "the timelessness of this building, all it has seen and still it stands here, beautiful, calm and serene while we, insignificant beings in the length of its history, buzz about like ants in our own insignificant world." He stopped and looked at the man beside him. "And yet it isn't insignificant, is it?" he asked. "It's magnificent and awful and can be both at the same time and we can be asked to endure what seems unendurable. If you need to talk, I can listen."

"No," Noah breathed, shaking his head, "I can't... but thanks." He bit his lip; it was hard to keep his composure, to keep the long held tears from falling, released by the words of this gentle stranger. But he knew nothing and it was better that way; if he knew what he was, if he knew what he had done then he wouldn't be as kind, as caring; those gentle eyes would flash with revulsion.

"Okay," said Finn, quietly accepting his decision. "But if you change your mind—ever—you seem to be able to find me."

Noah blushed; he should never have admitted to the computer hacking, he should have said Pengelly told him, he should have said anything except what he had. But that was it; he must say nothing more—about any of it.

"So what are your plans? Will you come back and have something to eat with us?" asked Finn.

Noah shook his head. "I should get away," he said.

"How did you get here? Where are you staying?" asked Finn, suddenly curious, looking at him.

"I hitched," admitted Noah, "and I guess I'm heading back home, I'm not really sure." The words had barely left his lips when he realised; he should have lied, said he had a car, said he was expected somewhere, anywhere. In the seconds between one thought and another he had told the truth again.

Finn shook his head. "You can stay with us tonight; we've plenty of room, even with the guys staying."

Noah opened his mouth to protest. "Thanks, but..."

"No buts, no arguments," said Finn briskly. "You said you'd been ill; I can't let you go out on a cold night with nowhere to go, attempting to hitch a ride with goodness knows who. You can't let me, a minister of the church, have that on my conscience." He quirked a lop-sided smile of triumph at Noah.

"That's sneaky," sighed Noah.

"Yep!" agreed Finn, satisfied.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Jackson put the phone down but didn't move off the saggy, well-worn sofa in the den. It was always the same talking to Dora; you never quite remembered what you said, what she said, but you always felt better, found an answer. Jackson curled comfortably in on himself and let the peace of the moment wash over him. It had been nearly three months since she had left Emmerdale; three months since their daily meetings had ended, since she had shown them they could cope with the events of the summer. But they still spoke regularly; sometimes there were three-way gossipy phone calls, full of giggles and jokes that meant something only to themselves; sometimes one or other of them felt a need to reach out, hear her voice, her grounding common sense or even have a mirror held up against their words, showing them the foolishness of their own fears.

Jackson stretched; his arm and leg, broken back in the summer and still healing, still aching a lot, he needed to move, to find some painkillers before he got too sore. He needed to find out if they were back yet.

He made his way back to the kitchen: Greg was sitting at the table, the debris of his soup making still in evidence but disregarded as he absent-mindedly twirled a wooden spoon in his fingers.

"Hey," he said as Jackson appeared. "How's Dora?"

"Finding sense in the chaos, as always," said Jackson wryly. "Have you got any paracetamol down here? Save me going upstairs for some."

"Yeah, sure," said Greg, moving from the chair. "You sore?"

"More achy really," replied Jackson, helping himself to a glass of water, accepting the packet of tablets Greg gave him. "What are Robbie and Simon doing?" he asked.

"Pretending to watch telly, I think," said Greg.

"Sounds like a plan," said Jackson, "you coming through?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute; I'll just sort this soup, no point in letting it boil away to nothing."

Jackson smiled at him, a watery smile; he knew Aaron and Finn had done the only thing they possibly could have done, but in a way, they had the easier path; waiting for their return was hard, long, every minute seeming an hour. He went back to the sitting room, only smiling a little, shaking his head, as Robbie and Simon both turned quickly at the sound of the door opening, admitting him.

They had not watched the television for almost another half hour, lost in their own thoughts, mostly in silence, before they heard the sound of the back door opening, before they sprung into life as Finn, Aaron and behind them, Noah moved through the kitchen, the hall towards the sitting room.

Jackson's eyes immediately sought Aaron's, locking on to him, trying to perceive his degree of distress. He looked tired, drawn but calm. Jackson felt as though he could begin to breathe again.

"Noah's going to stay tonight," announced Finn.

"I'll go and put the blanket on and the heater, make sure it's warm," said Greg immediately jumping up, glad of something to do. "It's just a small room on the top floor," he added, looking at Noah, "but quite cosy."

"It will be fine, honestly," said Noah. It will be wonderful, he thought, better by far than the hospital bed he had occupied; better than the cold, empty welcome of his childhood home, better even than the modern, minimalist apartment he occupied on the other side of the world.

"I'm sorry," he continued, "can I use your bathroom...and I need the small rucksack I had with me. And would you have a plastic bag I could have please," he finished, gabbling the words in his sudden haste and awkwardness.

"Sure," said Greg, "come on, I'll give you a tour, show you the bathrooms, where you're sleeping." He led Noah from the room.

"I'll go and put the stew back on," Finn called after them cheerfully, "dunno about any of you lot, but I'm starving."

"I'll give you a hand," Robbie jumped up from the sofa, glad of a chance to do something. His hands slid down Simon's arm as he moved away, their fingers entwining briefly before they dropped apart.

Aaron flopped down onto the sofa next to Jackson, letting his head fall onto his shoulder. He wriggled, cuddling further in as Jackson's arm came round him, hugging him.

"I phoned Dora," Jackson said, his fingers twisting through the short spikes of Aaron's hair.

"How is she?" asked Aaron.

"Busy with Christmas; she's got her son and his family staying."

"Did you tell her? What did she say?" ask Aaron

"Yeah, she's gonna phone you tomorrow, but if you need to speak to her tonight, she's on her mobile."

Aaron nodded; he didn't need a word for word account; even thinking about her, bringing her to mind, worked some kind of magic.

Finn stuck his head around the door. "Do you guys want to eat here or in the kitchen?" he asked.

"The kitchen would be easier, wouldn't it?" suggested Simon, "even if it is a bit cramped at the table with seven of us."

"We'll manage," Finn said cheerfully, "be about five minutes."

They were all in the kitchen when Noah came back downstairs.

"Squeeze in," said Simon, shuffling along the bench that lined one side of the table, the side that was nearest the wall.

"Is there a bin or something," asked Noah, he half raised his hand; the plastic bag Greg had given him was wrapped tightly in on itself making a small parcel.

"Under the sink," answered Greg, busy at the Aga.

"No," said Noah, his tone awkward, hating every word he had to say. "It needs to be an outside bin...it would be best..."

"Here," said Aaron, jumping up, realising and ignoring the slightly puzzled looks of his friends. He put out his hand to take the package, dropping it quickly as Noah snatched his own hand back. "I'll show you," he amended.

Going through the door from the kitchen to the small back porch, he flicked a light switch to put on the outside light.

"Sorry," Noah muttered as he lifted the lid of the wheelie bin that stood to one side of the back door. "It's just so horrible."

"But it saved your life," countered Aaron quietly.

"Yes," agreed Noah, saying nothing more, nothing of the regrets that it had done so that were his constant companions these days.

Greg and Robbie were dishing out the stew and passing the plates to Finn, Jackson and Simon when Aaron and Noah came back into the warm kitchen, passing no comment as Noah stopped at the sink, rinsing his fingers. On the table, large dishes held potatoes, peas and broccoli ready to add to the rich dark stew that was already on their plates. Without ceremony, they helped themselves.

"Tuck in," smiled Greg as Noah took only a couple of small potatoes. "Peas, broccoli? You need to be quick or this lot will eat it all." He pushed the vegetable dishes a little towards Noah.

"I'm sorry," said Noah quickly, "I don't eat vegetables, I..." he stopped; looking across the table he caught Aaron's sympathetic, encouraging glance. ""Oh God! I'm sorry...I can't say when there's food on the table." He paused, trying to get the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, under control.

"Noah?" said Finn, his concern clear in is voice. "What is it?"

Noah took a breath, steadying himself. "When I was hur...ill," he amended quickly, "I had to have a colostomy." It was the truth... almost the truth. "I have to be careful else..." he stopped speaking again.

Beside him, Simon, always the most demonstrative, slipped his arm around Noah's shoulders and hugged him.

"Can I get you something else that is easier for you to eat?" asked Greg.

Noah shook his head. He couldn't answer with words for the moment, his teeth were clamped firmly to his lip, biting, suddenly overwhelmed with their obvious concern.

"No," this is fine," he managed to say, "if you don't mind me picking the carrots out too."

"No worries; just eat what you can manage," said Greg, smiling reassuringly at him.

Noah picked at his food, it was very tasty but he wasn't really very hungry; he hadn't been hungry in weeks, months, but he ate, glad more than anything for the hospitality. Around him the other men slipped into an easy conversation, not ignoring him, but letting him face his food quietly.

"Coffee everyone?" asked Greg when they had finished eating. "Go on, I'll bring it through."

"I'll give you a hand," said Jackson, moving to fill the kettle.

"Are you okay," Greg asked him once they were alone in the kitchen. "You've been pretty quiet."

"I'm fine," Jackson reassured him. "It just feels a bit weird, meeting the twin brother of the man Aaron had to..." he stopped, his voice catching, "well, you know... I just feel a bit out of balance, after everything that happened." He shrugged, unable to explain exactly how he felt.

Greg nodded, although none of them, except Jackson, knew exactly what had happened in those few terrible hours when Aaron was held captive, he could understand how strange it must be for Jackson—for both of them.

Jackson carried the first of the mugs of coffee through to the sitting room, handing them round, he sat next to Aaron and was glad to feel his arm slide around his shoulders, feel his gentle, reassuring hug.

For a while they sat and talked, the conversation, banter, flowing easily between the friends; Noah was quieter, he had chosen an armchair rather than to share a sofa but he was content to listen, to smile at the jokes.

Eventually Finn excused himself; standing, he yawned and stretched. "I've got the Sunday School nativity service tomorrow," he explained, "Mrs Atkinson and her little darlings!"

It was the signal for them all to begin moving, going their ways, separately and together, for the night.

"It's been some evening," said Simon a little while later, sliding under the quilt to where Robbie waited for him; he moved gratefully into his boyfriend's arms.

"Poor kid," agreed Robbie.

"We are so bloody lucky," breathed Simon, "if anything happened to you..." he left the rest of the sentence unsaid as he moved again, easing himself on top of his lover, beginning to kissing him.

In their room, Finn was already in bed when Greg came into the room and began undressing.

"Greg?" he began, a question in his voice.

"Yes," said Greg.

"I was wondering..." he stopped.

"Of course it's fine," said Greg, pulling off his clothes.

"You don't know what I was going to say," smiled Finn, suspecting that of course he did.

"You're going to ask if Noah can stay here over Christmas," said Greg, draping his clothes over a chair, giving Finn a nice view of his arse.

"And you don't mind?" asked Finn, feeling his body stirring as he watched Greg.

"Of course not," replied Greg sliding in beside him. "If he has no one else to be with; he might still have family, friends he's planning to spend it with," he added reasonably.

"I don't know," mused Finn, "there is something about him, like he's sad, even when he was laughing at one of Simon's awful jokes or something."

"Well he has lost his brother and mother in the last six months," said Greg.

"And his cousins," said Finn, "don't forget them." There was a low growl of anger in his voice as he thought of the men who had captured Aaron.

"Don't Finn," said Greg quietly, pressing his hand to Finn's chest. "They're dead, leave them to rot. It's Aaron and Jackson...and maybe Noah...who need you now."

"Us," breathed Finn, moving to unit them.

In another room, Aaron lay awake; beside him Jackson slept, his peaceful breathing giving a rhythm to Aaron's thoughts. He smiled; their love making had been slow and tender, each caring of each other after the unexpected events of the evening. But Aaron was still wide awake, his thoughts tumbling one over the next; there was something, an idea, a word, lurking just beyond his reach, something that if he could catch it would make sense of whatever it was—he couldn't even put a name to it—that was eluding him. Beside him, Jackson stirred and cuddled in closer.

On the top floor Noah lay in the small bed; it was warm, the electric blanket making the bed cosy and welcoming. He breathed slowly, revelling in the sensations, the thoughts swirling round his head. He felt safe. He couldn't remember when he last felt so safe; not while he had been in hospital, he didn't remember all of his stay but there had been a clinical coldness there, an aloofness, he was there on sufferance, an ill inconvenience. His home, what was left of his home when he returned, when there was nowhere else he could think of to go to recover; his home, barren and empty, yet full of harsh memories. Even the place he had called home in Australia hadn't felt like this; he had worked there, trying to live there was a contradiction. He was glad to be alone for the moment, only his thoughts for company yet knowing that just a few steps away were these strange, welcoming men; men who should have hounded him from their door step, should have chased him from their threshold for what his family did to them. He lay, revelling in the silence, the stillness, pushing the thoughts of nights that had not been silent and still from his mind. He closed his eyes and wished he could stay in this warm, safe cocoon forever.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

It was dark, still pitch dark, it could have been almost morning, the dark morning of mid-winter, but Aaron didn't think so; it was still the middle of the night and he didn't know what wakened him. Could a thought wake him? The intangible idea that had been just out of his reach all evening was clear now with a certainty he couldn't fault. He lay in the darkness, letting the knowledge take root. He thought about waking Jackson, telling him; but what could he tell him? He knew yes, without a shadow of a doubt, but no details. It was Noah he needed to speak to, it was Noah who was keeping secrets. Eventually he fell asleep, still wondering.

...

Finn was wolfing a large bowl of cereal when Aaron wandered into the kitchen the following morning. He raised an eyebrow at the younger man.

"I didn't sleep very well," Aaron shrugged, running his hand over his hair, rubbing it. "My head was buzzing," he continued by way of explanation as he slid onto a stool opposite Finn.

"It was some evening," agreed Finn, "Jackson still asleep?"

"Yeah," laughed Aaron. "Since he's been off work he's getting very good at the long lies. It'll be a shock to his system when he's back to work after New Year. D'you want coffee?"

"No thanks, gotta run; Mrs Atkinson will be champing at the bit!" He jumped up, dumping his now empty bowl in the sink.

For the first time Aaron noticed that he wasn't just wearing his usual work clothes, his black shirt and bright white dog collar but a full length black gown that flowed and swirled around him as he moved about the kitchen.

"Back at lunch time," he said, moving behind Aaron, putting his hands on his shoulders, giving him a brief hug as he dropped a light kiss onto the top of his head.

Second later he was gone, a whirlwind leaving; for a few moments more Aaron just sat, lost in thought. Then almost automatically he moved to the kettle, filling, switching it on then spooning coffee into a mug as he waited for it to boil. He took his coffee into the den, the small cosy nest of a room down a few steps off the kitchen and curled up on the sofa. He picked up a magazine and flicked through it but hardly saw the words, the glossy pictures in front of him. He finished his coffee and went back to the kettle, making another for himself and taking another mug from the cupboard, a second.

There was no sound from any of the bedrooms he passed on the first floor; it seemed not only Jackson who was enjoying a long lie. He climbed the stairs to the top floor of the Vicarage. Without giving himself time to think, to stop, he knocked gently at the bedroom door, softly in case he was still asleep. But no! There was a quiet voice, biding him enter.

Aaron pushed open the door.

"Coffee," he said, holding out the mug, waiting as Noah struggled a little higher in the bed, as he hauled the quilt higher up his chest, almost to his chin, before reaching out to take the offering.

"Thanks," he said, a sudden wariness in his voice, his eyes.

Aaron perched on the end of the small bed. "Feet," he said, waiting as Noah pulled his feet up towards himself and he had more room to sit across the bed, his back against the wall.

"France," said Aaron quietly. He paused, waiting to see if Noah would say anything. He didn't; he looked in to the depths of his coffee, at his fingers gripping the mug, anywhere but at Aaron.

"France," repeated Aaron. "You were in France. Tiny, Fetch and the Boss were in France. Were you with them?"

"Leave it Aaron, please," he whispered, his voice stricken, his face suddenly pale, his eyes filling with sharp tears. "They're dead."

"Are they?" asked Aaron harshly

"Yes! Oh God yes!" breathed Noah; more than memories flooded over him; he could hear the noise, the shouting; feel the bodies, the blood; their blood, his blood. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the visions. He could feel his heart pounding suddenly, threatening to burst through his chest wall. He felt sick! Oh God he was going to be sick!

Urgently he thrust his mug towards Aaron; as soon as it left his hands he reached over the side of the bed, catching up the jumper he had dropped to the floor last night and held it to his mouth, letting the gagging bile flow.

Jumping, Aaron dropped the two mugs, clattering, spilling, onto the small dressing table close to the end of the bed. Twisting one leg, pushing off from the floor, he sprung forward on the bed towards Noah, sliding one hand under his, holding the ruined jumper for him, his other hand slipping round his shoulders, supporting him.

"I did see them in France," he confirmed as he laid back on the pillow, exhausted, his face ashen.

"The police? Did they know?" asked Aaron, not quite sure what to make of Noah's reaction.

Noah had his eyes closed; he was breathing deeply but shrugged his shoulders, a slight, resigned yet almost insolent movement. "It was a family thing," he said quietly.

Aaron looked at him for a moment; there was more to this, more than he was saying. Carefully Aaron took the jumper from where he had let it come to rest on his lap; wrapping it in on itself he dropped it into the rubbish bin then lifted the plastic bag from the bin and tied a knot in the neck of it.

"Noah, I..." began Aaron, leaning forward a little.

"Don't Aaron!" breathed Noah wearily. "I'm sorry I dragged it all up again for you, I just needed to know about Archie. The others—they're dead; they got what they deserved, try and forget about them and get on with your life, with Jackson, with your friends. But just leave it now, please." He stopped, biting his lower lip with his teeth; there was almost a sob in his voice, catching, stopping his words.

Aaron looked at the other man lying in the bed; he looked pale and drawn under the last remnants of his tan. He lay with his eyes closed, as if the effort of speaking had been too much for him.

"I'm sorry," whispered Aaron, sitting back further down the bed, moving away from the other man's pain.

"Don't", breathed Noah, "none of this is your fault. I'll be away in a couple of hours... forget I was ever here..."

"Where will you go?" asked Aaron, interrupting Noah in his turn. "Who are you spending Christmas with? Stay here; Finn will ask you to stay, you know, if you've not got any other plans."

Noah opened his eyes then and looked at the younger man, perched now rather than sitting at the end of his bed. He shook his head slightly; he felt as though he had entered some kind of parallel universe to his own life. As though it wasn't strange enough that there was someone sitting at the end of his bed, but it was someone who didn't want a piece of him, someone who now, for goodness sake, was suggesting he should stay in a house full of people he didn't know for Christmas!

"I've got plans; places to go, people to see," he said. Places to get away from, people to avoid, he thought.

"Liar," replied Aaron calmly, trying to hold the other man's gaze.

Noah closed his eyes. Shit! He used to be so good at lying, what was happening to him? First Finn, now Aaron.

"Aaron... I can't..." he paused, "...you don't know anything about me... if you did..." he stopped. No, he'd said enough. Instead he just shook his head.

Aaron said nothing; instead he bent to pick up the discarded bag holding the jumper. "Shall I throw this into the machine for you?" he asked

"Just bin it, I can buy another anytime," replied Noah. What with, he thought; he had spent so much over the last few months, it was worth it, every penny; but now... how could he earn now? Who would want him now, doing the only thing he knew how?

Saying nothing more, Aaron handed his mug of coffee back to Noah. He picked up his own in his free hand. "Nobody else is up yet," he said, "well except Finn, but he's away out to the Abbey, so there's no rush."

Noah watched Aaron leave the room; as the door closed, he felt his whole body relax, the tension that had held his emotions in check seeping from him. Curling in on himself, he hugged his arms close round his slender body, unable to hold back the tears any longer.

...

On the floor below Aaron slipped back into the room he was sharing with Jackson.

"It's a bit cold now, I'm sorry, I didn't make you one," he said, offering the remains of his coffee to Jackson.

"Where were you?" asked Jackson, stretching.

"Upstairs, speaking to Noah," said Aaron quietly. "He was in France; I think he was there when they died."

"What did he say!" exclaimed Jackson, alert now and quickly pushing himself up in the bed.

Aaron shrugged. "Not much; he didn't want to talk about it, just that he knew they were dead."

"Shit Aaron," breathed Jackson, digesting this new information.

"There's more though," continued Aaron, "I know it; there's stuff he's not saying."

"Can't really blame him," said Jackson reasonably, "I mean, it's not like he knows any of us."

"I know," groaned Aaron, snuggling under Jackson's arm and resting his head on his chest, relaxing as his fingers stroked through his short hair.

"Besides," continued Jackson, "he'll maybe tell us more over the next few days."

"You think Finn and Greg will invite him to stay then?" asked Aaron. "You okay with that?"

"I'm fine," Jackson reassured him. "But what about you, he's your ghost?"

"It was a shock last night, they are so alike" admitted Aaron, "but actually it was nice to have someone to talk about Archie to... someone who actually knew him."

Jackson nodded, understanding; a few months ago Aaron's words would have haunted him, tormented him, now he had more insight, more acceptance, into both their needs; more tools to cope.

"D'you think he'll stay?" asked Aaron. "I did kinda say I thought Finn and Greg would ask him."

"What did he say?"

"That he had somewhere to go," replied Aaron. "He was lying though, I'm sure."

Jackson nodded. "There is something about him... I don't quite know what..."

"It's the secrets," said Aaron quietly, "his past... the last few months... I don't know what, but he's hurting on the inside."

"You're getting very deep for a Sunday morning," said Jackson, a teasing edge in his tone, lightening the mood.

"I am," agreed Aaron, moving his leg over Jackson's body. He caught his hand and moved it till it slid over his buttocks, the suggestion, the invitation obvious in his movements. "Perhaps you should find out just how deep I am?" He moved again, pushing his hips against Jackson's, feeling a response.

"I know how deep you are," growled Jackson aroused. "Every time I bury my cock in your arse, every time I fuck you and you take every inch of me into you..." He could feel Aaron begin to move against him, entice him; he knew he wanted him.

Moving quickly, he flipped Aaron onto his back, kneeling over him, he tugged at his boxers, losing them easily as Aaron lifted his hips then each of his legs in turn. Leaning forward, Aaron pulled his tee shirt off even as Jackson copied his movements, discarding his own clothes.

Kneeling across Aaron's hips, he caught his hands above his head. "Don't touch me yet, don't move," he whispered, letting go of Aaron's wrists. Lightly, oh so lightly, he trailed his fingers down the sensitive skin of the inside of his arms, reaching his chest, down his flanks, feeling, hearing the sharp intake of breath, the increasing anticipation, excitement.

Jackson knew Aaron was watching him; he flicked his tongue across his lips, teasing him as his fingers found his nipples. He rubbed his thumb over the small buds, smiling at their instant response to his touch. He bent forward, bringing his lips to them, his tongue swirling across, around them, his teeth gently nipping. His hand moved downward, avoiding his hard, jutting cock, his fingers skimmed over the underside of Aaron's parted legs.

Sliding lower, he trailed soft kisses downwards, kissing and biting, softly, gently, then suddenly harder. Aaron groaned, pushed downwards, wanting more.

Jackson put his hands to the inside of Aaron's thighs, pushing them wider, knowing the gentle force would turn him on even more. He could see it now, Aaron's puckering entrance, wanting him. He blew slowly, watching it tense, relax as Aaron groaned again. He nipped the inside of Aaron's thighs, all the time getting closer, feeling Aaron's excitement growing, knowing he wanted to move, to push himself into Jackson's face.

He blew again, then quickly flicked his tongue around one side of that pink flower, then again, feeling it tense then relax, inviting him in, desperate to be filled. He swirled his tongue around it again, over it, slower, round and round, teasing ever closer to the centre of the flower. At last he pushed the tip of his tongue against the centre, feeling it relax once more and welcome him. He pushed once, twice, then quickly turned his head, sucking his finger, wetting it with his own saliva. Watching Aaron's face, he touched it to that puckering flower feeling it spread its petals, pull him in. Quickly he slid the full length of his finger into Aaron's arse, watching the satisfaction spread across his face, watching the need for more flood across his face. He withdrew a little, then thrust again, again, until he heard Aaron groan. He pulled back once more, pausing briefly before pushing two fingers deep inside his lover.

Holding his breath, heightening the sensation Aaron pushed his hips hard against Jackson's hand.

Not moving now, Jackson held his fingers hard in Aaron's arse, letting him stretch, get used to the sensation. Carefully he felt around for the lube, flipping the lid off with one hand.

"This'll be cold," he whispered, his voice a throaty growl, his own body throbbing with anticipation. He squeezed the lube onto the palm of his hand, pushing it forward with his thumb, then smearing it over the taut skin around Aaron's arse. He moved his fingers slightly, in and out, hearing the hiss of Aaron's indrawn breath as the cold lube entered him.

"Lift your legs," Jackson whispered, moving to accommodate him.

Aaron moved, draping his legs over Jackson's shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Ready?" breathed Jackson, slipping his fingers from Aaron's arse. He nuzzled his cockhead against Aaron's hole, holding his breath for a second, balancing on the precipice before he plunged in, burying his full length in his lover in one swift stroke.

Beneath him, Aaron gasped, the sudden burning pleasure, the sensation of fullness took his body, his mind. He began to move, responding to every thrust, every plunging thrust. He caught hold of Jackson's shoulders, gripping, his nails digging into flesh, arching his back to pull him in deeper. He was nothing but sensation, building sensation, every nerve a pathway of fire from a knot deep in his being, radiating outwards, taking him beyond thought to pure feeling exploding, engulfing them.

They lay unmoving afterwards, their breathing deep agonising gasps as it slowly returned to normal, their bodies glistening with sweat and cum, stuck together, content. Sated.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Noah slept again after Aaron left but he had no idea how long. Once wakened and up, he pulled his clothes from the small rucksack and spread them on the bed; none of them were particularly clean, but then, he wasn't particularly clean either; he sighed, changed days.

He ran his hand gingerly down his stomach, his fingers tentatively feeling the bag at his hip; empty—thank God! At least he wouldn't have to confront that yet. He chose the least grubby looking tee shirt, pulling a crumpled cotton shirt on top—his jumper had gone, the shirt would have to do until he could get another, at least his coat was thick and warm. He didn't bother changing the boxers he had slept in; he still had two clean pairs from the last launderette he had found and didn't want to use them too soon. Although he might see if there was one in the town here before he left. He made a quick trip to the bathroom on the floor below before heading down stairs.

He could hear voices, laughter, from the kitchen as he arrived at the bottom of the stairs. He stood for a minute before going into the room.

"Noah!" smiled Greg, seeing him first. "Did you sleep well? D'you want coffee? Breakfast?"

Noah shook his head.

"You need to eat," said Simon, rounding on him, "and why don't you eat vegetables? It says here you should eat a balanced diet." He waved his hand towards a laptop open on the table.

"You might as well give in now," smiled Jackson. "They've both gone into 'teacher mode', been doing research on the internet."

Noah looked around him; now he noticed that as well as the laptop there were several books on the table, their bright illustrations showing tempting plates of food.

"Teacher mode?" he echoed, confused.

"Teachers, both of them," explained Jackson cheerfully. "Greg you can understand," he continued, "but Simon..." he stopped, interrupted as Simon shoved him playfully.

"What do you teach?" asked Noah, unreality settling round his shoulders once again.

"Maths," answered Simon. "I'm just a humble maths teacher; Greg here, he's the head of a comprehensive in Newcastle. But stop trying to change the subject—breakfast. Cereal? Something cooked? Toast?"

Reluctantly Noah agreed to a slice of toast.

"I rinsed your jumper and threw it in the machine," said Greg to Noah. "Anything else you want to go in?"

"I...no... you needn't... thanks. I was just going to go shortly," mumbled Noah awkwardly.

"Were you?" asked Greg, surprised. "Is someone expecting you?"

Shit! Why had Jackson told him they were teachers! Suddenly he felt as though he was twelve again and standing outside the headmaster's office, taking the blame.

Yes, he wanted to say; someone was waiting for him; someone was expecting him for Christmas. "No," he whispered.

"Then please, stay with us," invited Greg simply. "Finn and I talked last night, the guys are all fine with it," Greg halted and smiled round at his friends.

Noah glanced round at the five men looking at him. No, he wanted to shout, you shouldn't let me in, you don't know me. "Thank you," he whispered. He caught sight of Aaron, a slight 'I told you so' smile touching his lips.

"Good," said Greg, satisfied. "Now, have you any more washing you want me to chuck into the machine?"

The rest of the morning passed easily, most of it was spent in the kitchen. Greg and Robbie poured over the recipe books, making lists for the last minute shopping they needed to get the following morning. Aaron and Jackson disappeared, out to buy a Sunday paper; Simon chattered, dishing out helpful suggestions to Robbie and Greg, until in exasperation they set him to making a pile of sandwiches for lunch.

"Eggs, cheese, cold meat," growled Robbie, dumping the food on the work top in front of him. "You know where the bread is, do something with them," his eyes danced in teasing annoyance as he glared at his boyfriend, daring him to make some smart remark.

"But don't put any tomato or cucumber in, we'll just have those separately," added Greg. "That way you can have as little as you want," he added to Noah.

"Here, you butter," said Simon, pushing a whole loaf of bread towards Noah as he retrieved the butter from the fridge. "We'd better leave Delia and Nigella to it or there'll be no tea tonight and no Christmas dinner for us!"

Suddenly Robbie sprung away from the table, moving quickly towards Simon. But Simon was quicker, putting the table between himself and his boyfriend as they danced backwards and forwards, laughing, trying to catch each other. Quickly Simon let himself be caught, let Robbie push him hard against the door, breathing rapidly as Robbie pushed hard against him then kissed him deeply.

"Oh I love it when you get all masterful," teased Simon breathlessly as they pulled apart.

"Slut!" laughed Robbie, "you're out of luck! Get on with those sandwiches!"

They moved apart, their hands sliding across each other, making the contact last as long as possible.

Noah watched them quietly, the banter an enjoyable novelty, a world away from his own experience.

"Are you really a teacher?" he asked Simon as they stood side by side, making piles of sandwiches.

"'Fraid so," replied Simon cheerfully. "I know all my times tables and I can do sums without the aid of a calculator. We can even talk about pi and Pythagoras if you want to?"

"No, you're fine," said Noah quickly smiling. "What about you Robbie?" Not pausing in the stroke of his knife as he buttered the bread, he looked across at him.

"Sparky...electrician," Robbie elaborated, answering, "you?"

"Hospitality," said Noah easily, "you know hotels and such like." It was a practiced answer; an answer he rehearsed, kept ready in his mind. He didn't have to use it often and it wasn't a lie. Not quite. "What about Jackson and Aaron?" he continued smoothly. It was always good to divert attention away from yourself.

"Jackson's a builder," replied Simon beside him, "although he hasn't worked since the summer, broke his arm and leg in an accident." For a moment his voice clouded over as he remembered their summer holiday. "And Aaron's a mechanic, works with his dad and sister... no, his half sister... cousin...it's complicated," he finished lamely, finding it hard to explain the convolutions of the Dingle family.

The back door crashed open as he finished speaking; Finn swirled into the room, propelled on a blustery gust of wind that followed him.

"It's getting wild out there," he exclaimed, dropping his coat onto a hook in the back porch before coming fully into the warm, welcoming kitchen. "A perfect afternoon for hibernating." He came to a halt beside Greg, sliding his arms round his waist and peering over his shoulder at the books. "That looks tasty," he said looking at the recipe pages open in front of him.

"We thought we'd make it on Tuesday," confirmed Greg, twisting in his arms to look up at him. "Are you going to change, lunch is just about ready; just waiting for Aaron and Jackson now."

"They're just coming," said Finn, beginning to unbutton his long black robe. "They're in the garage. He kissed Greg quickly then darted from the room.

Leaving the books for the moment, Greg began assembling lunch on the table; he placed the cutlery in a pile in the middle of the table surrounded by the sandwiches Simon and Noah had made, then added a bowl of salad and others of crisps and coleslaw.

"Can't tempt you to even a tiny bit of soup, I suppose?" he said, looking at Noah.

"I'm sorry," answered Noah, "it smells really good though," he continued. He wished he could eat a huge bowl of the wonderful smelling soup that had been gently warming on the Aga for a few minutes, filling the kitchen with its warm, comforting smell.

"Okay," Greg nodded, accepting his decision. Time enough over the next few days to try and talk about food with him, Greg's eyes flicked over his body, there really was nothing of him and even with the colostomy, he needed to eat.

"This looks really good," exclaimed Finn, coming back into the room. He had changed into jeans and a jumper and was at the table, sneaking a finger full of salad from the bowl.

"Stop it," said Greg, catching him. "Someone give Aaron and Jackson a shout, we could be waiting ages if Aaron gets his head stuck in that car."

"I'll do it," said Simon, disappearing to the back door.

"I've got a classic car, a 1960s Triumph, out there," said Finn to Noah, explaining. "Keeps Aaron amused for hours on end when he's here.

Minutes later everyone was back in the kitchen, taking their places at the table and tucking hungrily into the food.

"The shepherds were everywhere," laughed Finn, recounting their antics at the morning nativity service, "and the angels weren't much better. Mrs Atkinson wasn't at all happy!"

Noah was quiet; happy to listen to the conversation, the banter, flowing around the table. He tried to eat; the simple food looked so good, he put two egg sandwiches on his plate, nibbling one slowly. He reached out again, his hand hovering, undecided; a single slice of cucumber, a quarter of tomato? Decision made, he forked the thinnest slice of cucumber he could see onto his plate.

Greg was watching, counting even as he was joining in the gossip around the table, as he was rubbing his leg against Finn's, feeling the answering pressure. Two sandwiches, it wasn't very much; two sandwiches and a slice of cucumber so thin you could almost see through it. And the bread wasn't even wholemeal. The knot of concern in his stomach grew... which was silly he told himself, they hardly knew him and no doubt he'd be gone in a day or two. Still; it wouldn't hurt to look on the internet a bit more, try and talk to him.

"Ah that was good," sighed Simon, pushing his chair back from the table. "I hope no one is expecting me to do anything very much this afternoon."

"I was kinda expecting you to make the coffee," said Robbie.

"I made all the sandwiches," protested Simon indignantly, "okay, with a bit of help from Noah." He grinned across at the other man.

"With a lot of help from Noah," corrected Robbie, laughing. "You think Greg and I didn't notice—you talking, Noah making!"

"Okay, okay! I'll make the coffee," conceded Simon, standing and beginning to collect the empty plates.

"Just stick them in the dishwasher," said Greg, "it can go on after dinner tonight."

By unspoken agreement, they moved from the kitchen into the large sitting room; the fire was already lit, the lights on the Christmas tree twinkling. Underneath the tree there were a number of presents, gaudily wrapped, already stacked.

Noah chose the single armchair; he hadn't noticed the presents there the previous evening, perhaps they hadn't been there then. But seeing them now, the shiny paper catching the light accusingly, he suddenly realised, Christmas! He had been invited to stay; he would have to get them all something, a token, a novelty. Well it would be a novelty having to buy Christmas presents at all.

He let his mind drift back, a year, the last seven years; the altered mindset that the heat and sunshine of an Australian Christmas created; none of the last seven years had felt like Christmas. But then, he hadn't celebrated; there had been no tree, no twinkling lights in his beautiful but heartless apartment. At least there had still been people who were happy to pay him to work; not caring about the season, escaping from the season.

Finn lay on his stomach on the floor in front of the television, pulling DVDs out of the low cabinet, spreading them out around him.

"Someone else choose," he groaned. "There's nothing very new I'm afraid, so it's one of these oldies or 'The Great Escape' on the telly. Again."

"Captain America," said Simon quickly, leaning over from the sofa he was lounging on with Robbie and picking up the DVD.

"Always good to have nice eye candy in a film," agreed Greg seriously.

"I've never seen 'The Great Escape,'" said Aaron.

"Never!" exclaimed Finn, rolling round to stare at him disbelievingly. "How've you managed to miss it?"

Aaron shrugged.

"Steve McQueen on that motorbike," mused Robbie, seeing the pictures on his mind. "He was hot."

"Oh yes?" asked Simon, his tone teasing.

Robbie smirked, "well he was, in his day."

"It is a good film," agreed Greg, "the first time you see it anyway. But I don't think I can manage to sit through it again—you'll have to watch it some other time, Aaron." He stuck his foot out and poked Aaron, next to him on the sofa.

"That's fine by me," answered Aaron, "I don't really mind what you put on," he said, a little distractedly. Next to him, Jackson now had his arm round his neck; his fingers had found that sensitive patch of exposed skin just at his collar bone and were moving slowly across it, gentle, repetitive movements tracing the path of the bone for an inch or two. Such a tiny, insignificant movement, but it was taking all Aaron's powers of concentration to answer Greg, to try and draw his mind for a moment for the direction those gently teasing, arousing, fingers were taking him. Warm breath touched his ear.

"What about you Noah?" asked Finn, wondering if he had noticed Aaron and Jackson beginning to get all touchy feely. He seemed comfortable enough being with them but they didn't know where he was on the sexual spectrum; it wasn't really something you asked on a first acquaintance: have coffee, have dinner, stay for Christmas and by the way are you gay, straight or anything in between.

"I don't mind," Noah replied, "I've not seen any of them," he nodded to the array of DVD boxes now scattered across the floor. His eyes had caught the subtle movement of Jackson's fingers at Aaron's neck; had noticed the quick flick of Aaron's tongue moistening his lips. He sighed, a sad smile touching his soul; glad to see them, glad for them after everything he knew they had been through, but the differences they highlighted hurt, now more than ever.

"Captain America it is then," grinned Simon gleefully. He and Robbie sprawled together on the smaller of the two sofas leaving Aaron and Jackson, with Greg on the larger one.

Finn slipped the disc into the player, then scooted backwards to sit on the floor between Greg's legs, taking the remote with him, fast forwarding the promos for other films.

The afternoon, the evening, passed easily, pleasantly; Captain America entertained them, delighted them, fuelled their fantasies. Then Simon was as entertaining as The Queen of the Desert, singing along with the 80s soundtrack of the second film of the afternoon. Finn slipped away in the early evening for the second service of the day in the Abbey. Greg disappeared to the kitchen; the slowly cooking curry, as promised, demanding his attention.

They came together again, back to their home, their guests, their friends; to time spent together, to companionship and laughter' to the last night but one before the magic of Christmas.

For the second night in a row, Noah eventually climbed stairs to the small bedroom on the second floor; he shut the door behind him and leaning against it, looked at the small bed, his bed. He had come up earlier to switch on the electric blanket; the bed would be toasty warm and welcoming. On the chair next to the chest of drawers, neatly folded, his few clothes, the jumper he thought ruined, a pair of jeans, a couple of tee shirts, underwear even—he flushed at the thought of another man handling his boxers, but his heart warmed at the care displayed. He slid under the warm covers and into a warm, dreamless sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

"That's absolutely everything?" asked Robbie, leaving over the kitchen table, gazing down at the list in his hand. "No one can think of any other last minute bits and pieces?"

"Right, come on then," said Greg, grabbing a bundle of shopping bags tucked one into the other, "before they do think of anything else; we'll be long enough as it is, getting all this lot."

"You surely can't have much more to get," protested Finn, "you've been shopping for weeks!"

"This is just the fresh stuff; milk, bread, fruit and veg, cheese," answered Greg, reeling off the list from the top of his head. "It's going to be busy enough this early, we don't want to hang around, it'll be mad later. And we've still to pick up the turkey from the butchers!"

"Go then, go!" exclaimed Finn, "heaven forbid that I hold you back from your shopping." He moved to Greg, catching him, pulling him into him for a teasingly long kiss.

"Oh go and do something holy," laughed Greg in exasperation, quickly kissing him back as Finn pulled a puppy-dog eyed pout.

"I'm not due at the Abbey till later," said Finn, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "I could come with you, help."

"No!" chorused Greg and Robbie together. "Come on," continued Greg, dragging at Robbie's arm. "Let's go before he gets serious about coming with us."

The two men left the kitchen, leaving Finn on his own; there was no one else down yet although he had heard sounds of movement from upstairs, he had no idea who was stirring.

"Have they gone?" asked Simon a few minutes later, coming into the kitchen.

"Yep!" said Finn, pushing the paper he had been idly reading away from him across the table.

"Good," said Simon, decisively. "More coffee? Robbie was fidgeting all night and talking in his sleep and all it was, was the shopping list he was reciting."

"Not for me thanks," said Finn. "I'm heading over to the Abbey early, there is plenty to do. Sorry to abandon you all."

"Don't be daft," scoffed Simon, "we all know this is a busy time for you." He poured the boiled water into his mug. "We're quite capable of entertaining ourselves for a few hours."

"Is anyone else about upstairs?" asked Finn.

"I think I heard Noah moving around, but nothing from Aaron and Jackson yet," Simon replied, blowing on his coffee to cool it.

"Well, if you're okay, I'm gonna head just now," said Finn, dropping his mug into the sink.

"Yeah, no worries," said Simon. "I'm going for a wander up the street in a few minutes anyway; there're still a couple of bits I need to get for Robbie."

"Is there a chemist in the town?" asked Noah, coming into the room in time to hear the end of the conversation.

"Yeah, there's a couple; a Boots on the main street and a smaller, independent one about half a mile away."

Noah nodded, "that should do," he said. "I need bags," he muttered more quietly, not looking either of the other two men in the eye.

"And will you be able to get them okay," asked Simon; "I mean you don't have to be registered or anything? "

"No," said Noah, "you're registered to a database, get a card, like a credit card, you can get supplies anywhere, so long as they have them in stock and it's recorded with your home health board. When I was transferred back to this country, the hospital automatically registered me before discharge. It seems to work okay," he shrugged.

"I'll walk up the street with you, if you want," suggested Simon tentatively. He wasn't sure if the younger man wanted the company, would welcome the company, but he suddenly felt the need to offer that support anyway; he could always say no.

Noah nodded, "thanks," he said, "I'd like that." As the words flew from his mouth, he bit down, hard, on his lower lip. Shit! Why had he said that? Why had he agreed to Simon coming too? It was bad enough that they all knew...but to see...even as much as the empty, innocent, bags he collected; he had been stupid. He smiled ruefully at Simon. Oh well; it was done now.

There was still no sign of Aaron or Jackson when they left the Vicarage a short while later; Simon left a hastily scribbled note for them on the table. He chatted easily as they walked up the long drive, keeping up a steady inconsequential flow, a narrative of the mundane and trivial.

Beside him, Noah listened but didn't think he needed or was required to answer. Instead he walked next to the other man, enjoying the sensation of being in companionable step beside someone else.

They didn't rush, instead took their time looking in the shop windows they passed; in some familiar shops, their name displayed on every High Street and smaller shops, unique to that High Street. At every window Noah paused and looked intently, searching for inspiration; he could feel a knot of anxiety beginning to grip him. He needed something but not anything; something that said thank you for giving him this Christmas.

"There's Boots," said Simon, nudging him and nodding across the street.

They made their way to the shop, to the furthest away counter where the prescriptions were dispensed. As they waited in turn, Noah fished his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, pulling the small card he had described from it.

Getting to the front of the queue, he handed over the card.

"You've left it a little bit late to be asking for these," snapped the counter assistant typing the code from his card into the computer and reading the prescription. "Don't you know you should order your supplies a week before a public holiday?" Her dyed blonde hair moved sharply as she looked between Noah and the computer, her face, heavy with make-up trying to hide her years perhaps, was set into deep frown lines.

"I'm sorry," said Noah, looking down, looking anywhere but at her or Simon. He bit his lip; he needed those bags; he only had a few left, however much he tried, he couldn't make them last—oh god! What if she wasn't going to give them to him? He felt sick; a sudden wave of nausea sweeping over him.

He raised his eyes, looking into hers, holding her gaze; he smiled, a slow, apologetic smile, then flicked his tongue quickly over his lips, moistening them.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm quite new to all this..." his tone was low, conspiratorial, as he let the words drift away into the air between them. He let his eyes move slowly from her face... as he lowered his lashes; he smiled gently again as he caught her eyes once more.

There was a pause; one second, two.

"Yes... well," said the woman briskly, "come back in an hour; I should have your prescription ready for you then."

"Thank you," said Noah, reaching out to take his card back, letting his fingers touch hers for a long moment.

Less than a minute later they were outside the shop. "What just happened there?" laughed Simon. "What an old dragon, I thought she wasn't going to give them to you. What did you say?"

"Nothing," replied Noah, not wanting to talk about it, not wanting to think about it. You did what you had to do and if that meant flattering some old witch, you did it; if that meant letting her fawn over you, paw at you, you did it. No! He shook his head, almost imperceptibly; that was his old life; it had nothing to do with now, with getting some god-awful bags from a bad tempered old woman in a shop.

"Nothing happened," he smiled at Simon, "she must've just been having a bad moment."

They returned to their meandering among the shops; occasionally Simon paused to make a purchase, even asking Noah if he thought Robbie would like whatever it was he was considering buying. They were in a bookshop, idly passing the time; content to flick through books they had no intention of buying. Noah put down the book he had been reading and moved a few steps, turning the corner of the shelves. Abruptly he found himself moving away from the book section and into the craft section. He was about to head back towards the books when a thought struck him. A craft section.

The box of bags, already discreetly hidden in a store carrier bag, was waiting for Noah when he and Simon returned to Boots a little over an hour later. Flashing his best smile, signing for his prescription as quickly as he could, he murmured lush, grateful words to the counter assistant before escaping with all the speed they could muster.

"Treat you to coffee and a cake before we go back," offered Simon as they left the shop.

...

The large house was quiet when Aaron and Jackson finally made it downstairs. They saw Simon's note prominently displayed on the table.

"Finn's across the road, Robbie and Greg are away to the supermarket," read Jackson, "and Simon and Noah are away up the street." We're home alone." He accepted a mug of coffee from Aaron.

"How on earth are we going to occupy ourselves?" smirked Aaron.

"Behave!" laughed Jackson. "Last night and this morning! Is your arse not sore?"

"You're not that big!" countered Aaron, skipping quickly out of Jackson's way as he made to grab him.

"We need to think of something to get for Noah tomorrow," said Jackson, changing the subject. "We're all gonna have things to open; Finn was talking about that last night."

"Did he have any ideas?" asked Aaron

"Not really," replied Jackson thoughtfully, nursing his mug of coffee between both hands as his elbows rested on the table. "We'll go and have a look at the shops when we've had this, see if we get any inspiration."

"Text Greg, see if he and Robbie have seen anything while they've been out," suggested Aaron.

"A man with a plan," muttered Jackson as he picked up his phone and began typing in a message. "I'll text Simon as well," said Jackson moments later, "seeing as he's out and about with him, maybe he's picked up some ideas."

"Right; you ready then?"

A short while later they had joined the bustling Christmas Eve crowds in the small town, darting in and out the shops in the search for last minute gifts, meeting friends or pausing for a moment, taking a minute from a busy day to listen to the carol singers sheltering from the cold under the small covered market place.

After wandering into one or two shops, peering through the window of others, Aaron and Jackson came to a halt outside the extravagantly decorated window of a florist shop. Buckets at the door held the last sprays of holly and mistletoe, there was even a single tree forlornly leaning against the window.

"Mistletoe!" announced Aaron. "We need to get mistletoe." He bent to the bucket and began searching through the stems looking for the most berried small branch. "Maybe they've got more inside," he stood and took a step towards the door.

"What's that?" asked Jackson, nodding towards the decorated window.

Tucked in amongst the display, almost hidden by silver pine cones, he had seen a circle of small figurines.

"It's a circle of friendship," said Aaron, looking where he was pointing. "They usually have candles in the middle of them – or pot plants – Lisa's got one on the back step, not as nice as that though."

Jackson nodded, remembering now; that was why it was so familiar, he'd seen it many times before but never thought to ask about it.

"I was thinking...for Noah..." he mused.

"You can't get him anything like that," protested Aaron, "he's only got that small rucksack; it'd be far too heavy and awkward for him to carry."

"Yes I know," agreed Jackson, "but it's given me an idea. "Come on."


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

"So!" said Simon, sitting opposite Noah in the coffee shop, both of them with a large, foaming mug of coffee in front of them, both of them with a muffin in front of them Simon had taken a large bite from his; Noah had only tentatively nibbled his cake.

"So I'm gonna be really nosey now," said Simon, "and you don't have to answer if you don't want to," he smiled at Noah, "but on the first night, when you turned up on the doorstep, you said you had hacked into the police computer; how did you do that?"

Noah smiled back at him; he had expected the question, from one or other of them; he had been more surprised that it had take them so long to get around to asking. He kept the mask of his smile gently playing on his lips.

"It's just maths," he answered, "you could probably do it if you tried; it's maths, a bit of logic and a few tricks." His mind drifted, backwards in time, across miles of ocean; he had been much younger, not long in Australia, finding his way, needing money. He remembered the man who had taught him the tricks; it had been payment, of a kind; payment he had cashed more than once. Especially in France. Especially afterwards, when he needed to find Aaron; it was a payment he couldn't give back, a knowledge he couldn't un-know. But he had no intention of telling Simon any of that.

"You must be quite good at it," said Simon, wanting to know more, "to get through the Facebook privacy settings; to get into the police computers," he added, his voice emphasising his words.

"Facebook was...ridiculously easy," Noah admitted, blushing a little. "The police system took a little longer to get into, a couple of hours or so."

"Phew!" whistled Simon, impressed despite himself.

Noah shrugged apologetically. "It's not really something to be proud of though, is it," he said, the pictures of that man so clear in his head; his smile, his naked body. Computer hacking hadn't been all he had taught him during the few months they met; he had taught him how to survive. "But I needed..." his voice trailed away, his eyes looked anywhere but at Simon.

"And has it helped," asked Simon gently, "speaking to Aaron?"

Noah nodded. "When I heard Archie was dead... my mum phoned me... God!" The breath escaped him as he bit his lip, fixed his eyes somewhere on the ceiling, rigidly trying to force the tears not to fall. "I knew, even before she said a word; I'd been feeling strange, unsettled for hours. I was with someone... a client..." he remembered the moment so clearly. He wouldn't normally interrupt and answer the phone, but for once it was not switched to silent and the ringing tone was insistent, penetrating his consciousness, interrupting. He remembered stretching out his hand, remembered the cold dread of anticipation that filled him even before he touched it; the name that sighed into his mind like a ghost, already a ghost; Archie.

His client hadn't been pleased, her evening had not ended, but at least he had done enough to still get paid. He remembered the swirl of her coat as she flounced passed him as he showed her from the apartment; the lingering aroma of her expensive perfume in the room, on his body, that stayed even after she had gone and he had showered.

"When I got home... when the police told me how he died... I knew I had to find Aaron..." he paused again, shrugged but bit his lip. He was in danger of saying too much again, perhaps he had already said too much; it was another life, he didn't need to revisit it now.

"It must have been awful," said Simon sympathetically, "being so far away, hearing about it like that. Having all those miles to travel to get home."

Noah nodded; in truth he couldn't remember much about the long flight home; he'd swallowed a handful of pills, the journey passed in a haze. It was only when he got home that he found out the truth about how Archie died; then his resolve hardened, that a plan began to form in his mind, that he knew too, that he needed to talk to the man who had been with him; the young man who the police would not fully name for him; only Aaron.

Simon's phone began to ring. "Hey!" he said, answering it. "We're in the coffee shop just off the High Street... yeah no rush, we've not finished yet..." he glanced at each of their mugs, at Noah's half eaten cake. "Yeah we'll wait... see you in a bit." He clicked to end the call. "That was Jackson, he and Aaron will be here in a few minutes. Are you going to eat that cake?"

Noah shook his head; it had tasted wonderful, it had melted on his tongue like nectar but all he could think of was what it would become and that thought contaminated any pleasure the simple cake could give him.

Simon looked at him, trying to understand; he couldn't imagine what it must be like, dealing with the bags every day, but he had to eat too.

"Go halves on it with you," he asked hopefully.

"Okay," Noah nodded; he picked up a small knife and cut the remaining cake in two; not quite equal halves, carefully sliding the larger of the two pieces onto Simon's plate

Simon said nothing only looked at the other man. Noah shrugged apologetically, cutting the small piece of cake again before eating a tiny mouthful.

Despite trying not to eat the cake, Noah was glad the conversation had moved from computer hacking and how he felt talking to Aaron; the way words had been flowing from him recently, he might say more than he meant, more than was wise.

In a matter of minutes the door pushed open, admitting Aaron and Jackson; in seconds they had joined Simon and Noah at the table, sliding into the bench seats, Aaron beside Simon, Jackson beside Noah. Carefully Jackson pushed the carrier bag he clutched far under the table, out of view.

They ordered more coffee; it was comfortable to sit, in the warm, soaking up the atmosphere, watching the bustling shoppers bundled up against the cold hurrying past the windows.

"Have you heard from Robbie," Jackson asked.

"Had a text a while ago," replied Simon. "He said they had one more shop to go into then were heading home. They'll probably be there before us."

"We'll stay out a while longer then, shall we?" laughed Aaron, "let them get it all put away."

"That is, no doubt, one of your better ideas, Livesy," smirked Simon. "So we'll head to the pub before we go back."

"Good idea," said Jackson, "and we can say you led us astray."

Simon pulled a face at him. The banter bounced around the table and went with them to the pub, everyone's mood buoyant. When they thought they had left it long enough, they made their way back to the Vicarage.

"Finn! Stop it! Now get out of the kitchen unless you're gonna help properly!"

They heard Greg's exasperated voice even before they pushed open the back door.

"Oh thank goodness you're back!" exclaimed Finn as they came into the room. "I was only trying to help, putting things away!"

"You're not helping," laughed Greg, "you're getting in the way and I saw you trying to open that packet. Now get out all of you; let us get this done and then we'll find some lunch."

"Yes dear," said Finn in a mockingly camp voice, moving quickly as Greg made to chase him from the kitchen. "I know when I'm not wanted," he continued in an aggrieved tone, heading towards the sitting room.

"Out!" yelled Greg behind him, trying hard not to laugh.

Noah headed towards the stairs, "Just taking this up," he said, lifting the bag he was carrying.

"Yeah, I need to take this up too," said Jackson, indicating his own bag. He would have to have some time during the afternoon to sort it all out and he would have to catch the other guys to do their bit, but he had all afternoon and evening.

Jackson and Noah headed towards the stairs.

"I hope it's not making it too awkward... uncomfortable... for you," said Noah hesitantly, pausing as they reached the top of the first flight of stairs, "me being here... after everything... I really appreciate it."

Jackson shook his head. "Don't be daft; what they did... it was to all of us, in different ways. For Aaron and Archie... it was physical, but for us... we were hurt because of our love for them..."

Noah bit his lip, saying nothing; it had been his choice after all.

"...it's like ripples on a pond," Jackson continued. "Afterwards... God! ... it fucked with my head so much! I was horrible for a while, it just consumed me, I couldn't get over feeling guilty that Aaron had been on his own—which was silly, totally irrational—but it grew arms and legs in my mind." He paused, remembering. "I'm lucky," he said quietly, "I've got good friends." He stopped speaking again; he needed to breathe, collect himself before the memories he could feel knotting within him appeared as tears.

"Finn is amazing, you can always talk to him. As for you being here, we're all happy that you are; we're all kinda in this together really when you think about it, so we'd better just make the best of it, dump our stuff and get back downstairs and start Christmas properly," he finished briskly before he got too emotional.

They smiled tentatively at each other, smiles of encouragement, of understanding and acceptance; smiles that realised they didn't know everything, there were gaps, but that didn't matter; they were safe, they were among friends. As Jackson turned towards the door of the room he and Aaron shared, Noah moved to the smaller staircase that took him up another floor to his room.

Climbing the last, turning flight of steps, Noah slipped into his small room and closed the door behind him. Not that he thought any of the other men would follow him up, but he liked the warm and cosy, cocoon-like sensation the small, homely room gave him. He sat on the edge of the bed, undoing his heavy winter boots then pushing himself further back to sit comfortably cross-legged on the bed. He emptied the carrier bag in front of him, examining the contents, letting the multiple strands of fine leather thongs slide through his fingers, then picking up the small bag full of colourful beads. He didn't know if he could do it, if he remembered how, it had been a long time. He dropped the bag of beads back on to the bed and picked up two strands of leather separating them, then closed his eyes. For a moment he didn't move, just let the leather sit on his fingers, then he began, slowly twisting and knotting, his fingers remembering the moves his mind had forgotten. He opened his eyes, worked the leather for a minute or two more before stopping and unravelling it, satisfied. He would make them properly later, adding the beads; for now he tucked all the pieces back into their bags.

Finn and Aaron were still banished to the sitting room when Noah made his way back downstairs. There was no sign of Jackson but the smell of frying bacon was wafting through from the kitchen.

"I'm hoping that's lunch cooking for all of us," grinned Finn as Noah entered the room.

"Yeah, so long as you haven't pissed Greg off too badly," teased Aaron "and he's found an extreme form of revenge."

"No," said Finn confidently. "No way would he starve his man; he likes to keep my strength up!"

"Eugh! Too much information," laughed Aaron.

Noah moved to the seat he had made his own, the only single armchair in the room and curled himself into it, but he had hardly made himself comfortable in it when Simon stuck his head round the door.

"It's safe to come back now," he grinned, "you're forgiven," he added to Finn, laughing as Finn stuck his tongue out at him. "Where's Jackson?"

"Upstairs," replied Aaron, "I'll give him a shout."

They all made their way to the kitchen, to the source of the wonderful smell of cooked bacon, already made into sandwiches, waiting for them, piled high on a communal plate, allowing them to help themselves.

Tucking in hungrily, they devoured the tasty sandwiches, even Noah allowed himself to nibble slowly through two small squares.

"What's everyone doing this afternoon?" asked Greg as they finished their coffee, "because I can tell you, Robbie and I are banning you all from the kitchen."

"Oh what it is to be married to a domestic goddess," sighed Finn, melodramatically.

"Don't you have anything to do before the service tonight," grumbled Greg cheerfully, "keep you out of our hair for a while?"

"Actually I do have a few visits I need to do," admitted Finn, "a couple at the hospital and at least two in town.

"Well would you like to go and do them and give us peace?" said Greg, playfully shoving him in the direction of the door.

"How come you're picking on me all of sudden," teased Finn, his tone aggrieved, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Because no one else is as annoying as you," countered Greg cheerfully. "Now out!"

"A kiss before I go?" asked Finn, moving towards Greg hopefully.

Greg made a tiny noise of exasperation that he didn't mean and took a step to meet Finn, gasping, almost giggling as Finn pulled him roughly to him, capturing his mouth for a kiss that that cut short his laughter, that caught his breath, for a kiss that reached deep into their souls, where their tongues danced and fought and promised more.

"I'm going, I'm going," gasped Finn as he finally let Greg go, as they grinned at each other.

"I've got a few things to do this afternoon too," said Jackson. "D'you need a hand to clear up or anything first?"

"Nah, you're fine," replied Robbie, glancing at Greg for confirmation.

"Right, we'll get out of your way then," said Jackson, getting up and dragging Aaron with him.

They dispersed about the house; Aaron and Jackson went upstairs to their room as Jackson began to put together his idea for Noah's present. Aaron watched him for a few minutes; there was nothing really for him to do and he soon got bored. Making his excuses, he made his way back down to the kitchen, only going in quickly enough to lift the keys of the Triumph, not staying long enough to get in the way.

Grabbing a coat on the way our, he made his way over to the garage, unlocking the double doors. He stood for a moment admiring the car before climbing into it, starting the engine, listening to her purr before reversing her into the drive.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Noah took the chance to make his unexpected Christmas preparations too. On his bed he spread out the things he had bought; dividing the long thongs of leather, grouping the beads in their colours, shades of hot reds, warm oranges, rich purples. He began to work; his fingers remembering the twists and knots as earlier but awkward at first, but then, slowly, slowly regaining suppleness long unused.

Simon retreated to the den; from there he could hear Robbie and Greg busy in the kitchen; their companionable gossip, the clatter of pans and the smell of cooking, baking. He sunk comfortably into the old saggy sofa, a book propped on his chest and promptly fell asleep.

Finn returned in time for the evening meal, eaten gathered together in the kitchen.

"Is anyone coming to the midnight service?" he asked between mouthfuls.

"What time is it?" asked Simon quickly.

"Eleven thirty," replied Finn, equally quickly, laughing at Simon; wishing he could have answered midnight.

"D'you mind if we don't?" asked Jackson, glancing at Aaron, making sure he was speaking for both of them.

"Course not," said Finn. He didn't mind; he knew church wasn't for everyone, but he did believe that everyone found their own spirituality, whether that be within the confines of formal religion or at a place where one's soul finds peace.

"Aww, early night with a high protein drink, is it?" teased Simon, "waiting for Santa to come."

"Santa won't be the only one cuming in our bedroom," smirked Aaron.

"Oh you had to say it, didn't you," groaned Jackson, a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

"Sorry," replied Aaron, sounding anything but sorry.

"D'you mind if I come to the service?" asked Noah quietly. He hadn't set foot in a church for years, well not until Aaron had unexpectedly chosen the Abbey to talk to him the other night, church was not a place for people like him, he felt sure. But the carols, the familiar story, remembered Christmases from his long dead childhood; suddenly he wanted to capture those moments again.

"Course not," smiled Finn, "and Greg will be there to protect you from any of the Parish Ladies." He laughed, he meant it as a joke, but he didn't miss seeing the sudden flash of pallor that crossed Noah's face. Surely the lad knew how good looking he was? How appealing he looked with the slenderness of his recent illness, the air of sadness and other worldliness, that clung to him. He could think of one to two ladies, more even, who would flutter around him like butterflies, like mother hens wanting to feed him up.

Noah forced himself to smile, it was a second or two too late; he smiled and tried to block the memories from his mind, the pictures of the women, the sparkling jewels that adorned their necks... that they loved him to remove... slowly. He closed his eyes briefly, bringing himself back to the present.

In the end, Robbie joined Greg and Noah walking across to the Abbey a little after eleven o'clock. They were not the first to start filling up the pews, already people were finding their places, talking to friends, exchanging greetings of the season. Greg was stopped on several occasions by folk wanting a few words.

"I usually sit fairly near the front," he whispered to Noah and Robbie, "are you okay with that?"

"We'll cope," grinned Robbie.

"Do you come to a lot of the services?" asked Noah.

"Only high days and holidays," replied Greg.

"You seem to know a lot of people?" whispered Noah as they settled into their seats. He had slid into the pew first and had a place comfortably next to the wall; Greg was next to him, in the middle with Robbie to Greg's far side.

"They know I'm with Finn," shrugged Greg, "we don't hide anything and Finn is very well known in the town and very popular," he finished more quietly.

Noah glanced behind him, the pews were rapidly filling with people braving the cold winter night; he shrugged deeper into his coat, maybe this had been a mistake.

Suddenly the music that has been a quiet background stopped, a hush spread from the front pews to the back as anticipation filled the church.

Then Finn appeared, flanked by two other ministers, but it was Finn that stood first at the microphone and welcomed everyone to the service. His eyes swept over the congregation, including them all but lingering a moment longer when he found Greg, his smile widening even more.

The carols, the tunes, the words not thought of from one year's end to the next but so deeply ingrained into the congregation's subconscious that a mysterious chemistry made them instantly and intimately known, allowing a warm sensation of familiarity to wash over them.

Robbie watched Finn, watched his love and enthusiasm; it was the first time he had seen him at work, seen his beliefs laid bare in front of him, in front of the congregation; he watched, intrigued.

Noah let the words, the music wash over him, surrounding him, transporting him back to his childhood, to his lost mother and brother, to lost Christmases, to other family celebrations, to the time before. The wall beside him was solid, secure; he leant against it, glad of the support it offered. If he closed his eyes he could pretend he was still there, that they were still with him, that he wasn't the person he was now.

Greg kept his eyes fixed on Finn; watching him in repose during the moments when one of the other ministers was leading the service, watching him share the love he believed in with every person in the large building. He smiled thanking—whoever—for the gift of this man in his life.

Simon, Aaron and Jackson were still up when they returned.

"Oh I need a drink!" exclaimed Finn, bursting into the sitting room in front of the others. "Happy Christmas everybody!" He caught Greg to him, pulling him close, kissing him deeply. "I'm going up to change," he announced when he finally released a breathless Greg. He disappeared from the room, his footsteps clattering quickly up the stairs.

"What's everyone drinking?" asked Robbie, looking round the room.

"We've just been on lager," replied Jackson, "and I wouldn't say no to another can, Aaron?"

"Go for it," replied Aaron, stretching. He was laying full length on the sofa, his head on Jackson's lap.

"Noah?" asked Robbie, pausing at the door.

"Not for me, thanks," he replied, "too gassy; lager, some beers, even cola doesn't agree with me these days." He looked away from them, hoping they would understand what he meant.

"Glass of wine then?" suggested Greg.

Noah nodded; in truth he felt more comfortable with wine than with lager, even before, it had always been wine, always sipped, mostly sipped... except for the few occasions he needed the oblivion found at the bottom of a bottle—or two—except for the few occasions he hated his life the choices he had made, the circumstances that had claimed him.

"Red or white?" asked Greg, cutting across his thoughts.

"I prefer red," answered Noah, "but honestly, I don't mind."

"Red is better, for the season and this time of night," agreed Greg.

In a matter of minutes the drinks had been handed round; Greg joining Noah in a generous glass of red wine, he even produced a large plate piled high with warm mince pies.

As the food appeared, so did Finn, almost bouncing into the room.

"Wine or lager?" asked Greg, "and what are you wearing?"

"My PJs," said Finn in a hurt tone.

"I know they're your PJs," said Greg, looking at the well worn tee shirt and faded pyjama trousers with the hole at the knee that Finn now sported. "What I really meant was _why_ your PJs?"

"Why not?" countered Finn, accepting a glass of wine from Greg and drinking deeply. "It's late, no point in dirtying more clothes. Besides, the guys have all seen me with far less on—what?" he finished abruptly, catching Greg's raised eyebrow, reminding him.

"Oh! Shit! Sorry Noah," said Finn, getting Greg's message. "I forgot, I'll go and put something else on." He began to move towards the door.

"Don't be daft," laughed Noah, "you're fine." He suddenly felt warm inside, a glowing feeling that had nothing to do with the wine he was sipping and everything to do with an overwhelming feeling of friendship and acceptance that washed unexpectedly over him. He loved watching these men, he realised; their friendship, their easy, comfortable love so openly expressed; it was like nothing, nothing he had ever experienced before. He wanted to drink it in, savour it, save it for the time when other thoughts threatened to drown him when other circumstance would claim him again.

"See," said Finn rather smugly, "Noah doesn't mind." He had forgotten, for a brief moment in the euphoria of the evening; he had forgotten that they had only known Noah a matter of days; that Noah had said nothing, given no indication of his own sexuality. Not that it really mattered, of course.

They sat for a while, lazy with the dying embers of the fire but all of them reluctant to move. Eventually Noah was the first to move, unravelling himself from the armchair, yawing, stretching.

"Er...what's the plan for the morning?" he asked.

"No need to rush," said Greg. "Finn's got to be at the Abbey for most of the morning," he gently shoved Finn, almost dozing beside him, "haven't you? So lazy morning, lunch then..."

"Then pressies," interrupted Aaron gleefully. He was childishly excited; it was a novelty to be away from Emmerdale for Christmas, away from the claustrophobic, overpowering Dingle celebrations.

"Yes, pressies," agreed Greg, glad that Jackson and Aaron had taken charge of organising something for Noah. He hadn't seen the finished article, only his part in it but he liked the idea behind it.

"What? You mean Santa isn't coming down the chimney and leaving things for us to open in the morning."

"You're a bit old for pressies from Santa, aren't you," scoffed Robbie to his boyfriend. He glanced at Greg, sharing a secret knowledge, a surprise.

Over the next few minutes they dispersed, drifting in ones and twos to their beds, to the arms of their lovers, to the blessed peace of solitude. Only later, when the house was quiet, sleeping, did Santa stalk the corridors, leaving a small stocking for each of them on their bedroom doors... and smiled, silently thanking the conspiratorial elf who had helped him.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Simon's whoop of delight, the not so subtle noise of a door opening and closing woke most of the household ridiculously early the next morning. In seconds his excited voice was joined by Aaron, neither of them talking quietly.

"Is all that noise something to do with you?" asked Finn, stretching lazily beside Greg.

"Me?" asked Greg innocently. "Sounds more like Santa's been to me," he smiled.

"You're amazing," murmured Finn, rolling over to nuzzle at whatever bit of skin he could reach.

"I told you, it was Santa," protested Greg, squirming away from Finn's tickling lips.

"And did Santa get something for Noah too?" asked Finn.

"Of course," exclaimed Greg, "even though it was only yesterday when his elves were at the supermarket that they got the idea."

"Mmmm, I can just see you in an elf outfit," said Finn, his hand beginning to move over Greg's body, "dark green and skimpy... very, very skimpy..."

"Behave!" Greg shoved him, none to gently. "Now go out there and be surprised... you know nothing!

Finn opened their bedroom door, smiling to find two stockings hanging on the outside door handle. Down the corridor, he could hear Simon and Aaron chattering; they were in Aaron and Jackson's room, he wandered towards the noise.

"Morning," he grinned, sticking his head round the door.

"Finn! Merry Christmas! Santa's been," exclaimed Aaron. He was sitting crossed-legged on the bed; beside him, Jackson was still huddled hopefully under the covers. Simon was perched at the end of the bed, his stocking, with the wrapped presents still intact, in front of him.

"Did you know anything about this?" he demanded, looking at Finn.

"I'm just as surprised as you," Finn answered honestly, "where's Robbie?"

"Downstairs making coffee for everyone," answered Simon. "I'll go and tell Greg and see if Noah's awake." He bounced from the bed, quickly leaving the room.

He stuck his head around the door of Finn and Greg's bedroom. Greg was still in bed, lying, just listening to the excitement from the next room.

"Robbie's bringing coffee up," he said, "come through."

Greg nodded but didn't immediately move. "Will do," he said.

Simon held his eyes for a moment, "thanks," he said, suddenly serious.

Greg said nothing, only raised his eyebrows a touch.

"I know it was you," continued Simon, "Santa's presents."

"Santa had help," replied Greg, "maybe you should be thanking him too."

"Oh I will," smirked Simon, "long and hard, later." He winked at Greg then turned from the room and made for the stairs that led to the next floor.

Reaching Noah's door, he tapped gently. "Noah! There's coffee downstairs, in Aaron and Jackson's room, if you're awake."

A murmured acknowledgement came from the further side of the door; Simon needed no more encouragement, he opened the door.

"Merry Christmas!" he grinned at the sleepy figure curled deeply into the quilt, only just stretching into wakefulness. "Santa's been," he held the door wide and nodded to the stocking hanging on the door handle. "Bring it downstairs, we can all open them together."

Noah nodded and watched as Simon grinned at him before disappearing, his feet speeding noisily down to the floor below.

For a moment, Noah didn't move; he had been awake for only a matter of minutes and already the day, Christmas Day, was taking on an air of unreality. He glanced at the still open door, he could see the stocking hanging there; when did he last have a stocking? Years ago, so many years he really couldn't remember but he must have been just a kid. He pushed the covers back a little, reluctantly feeling his stomach, his bag; it would do for a bit. He got out of bed and pulled his jumper on, over the tee shirt he was wearing.

Simon was in the bed, between Jackson and Aaron, by the time Noah got down to the floor below. Finn and Greg curled close together at the end of the bed and Robbie was handing out the coffee from a tray resting on top of the chest of drawers.

Noah sat on a chair, pulling it fractionally closer to the bed.

"Squeeze in if you want," Simon smiled cheekily at him.

Noah shook his head, but he smiled, softening his refusal.

"Right everyone," declared Aaron, "start opening!"

For a moment there was silence, only punctuated by the sound of paper being ripped unceremoniously from the presents. Simon and Aaron enthusiastically shredding the paper quickly from each small gift, Greg and Robbie undoing each parcel more slowly, taking as much delight in the surprise of their friends; they grinned at each other, pleased with themselves.

In a matter of minutes the bed was littered with coloured paper, pieces floated to the floor, coming to rest amongst their feet to be picked up later. The stockings were all very similar; Christmas satsumas, sweets, a puzzle book or paperback but the thrill of opening each and every small parcel was overwhelming.

"Oh I need to go," groaned Finn, stretching but not moving.

"Go on then," said Greg unsympathetically, "and you need a shower."

Finn lifted his arm, sniffed.

"No," said Greg, "you _need_ a shower," he repeated emphatically.

"Oh...yeah," grinned Finn. "Better move then," he smirked

"Does anyone want more than toast or cereal for breakfast?" asked Greg once Finn had left for his shower. He had stretched further along the bottom of the bed, comfortable.

There was a general rumble of agreement that that would be fine for breakfast. During the next few minutes they retreated to their own rooms, to the bathrooms then in ones and twos downstairs.

"Anything you want done?" asked Noah as he came into the kitchen, already fragrant with the first gentle aroma of the turkey cooking. "Potatoes peeled?"

"I want you to have a few mouthfuls of muesli," said Greg, looking at him intently, "it's better for you than toast."

"I don't know...I," began Noah, caught off guard by Greg's request.

"Everything I've read in the last couple of days says you need to eat a good balanced diet," said Greg gently. "And you do need to eat."

"Just a little then," said Noah, giving in; it wasn't so much that he wanted the cereal, but the sensation of someone caring for him, someone concerned enough to read, to understand all the information out there, to provide the food for him, was intoxicating, a sensation to be savoured.

"Good," said Greg, satisfied, it was a start. "Then you can peel all the potatoes you want!" He placed a small bowl with little more than a covering of muesli across the bottom of it in front of Noah then pushed the milk across the table at him.

Noah looked at it, added a splash of milk then moved the contents about the bowl, not eating, for a minute or two.

"Am I gonna have to stand over you and watch you eat every mouthful," said Greg from the other side of the kitchen.

Making a decision, Noah scooped up the first spoonful of muesli and popped it into his mouth; it was lovely, more than just the cereal, it was full of rich dried fruit. It didn't take him long to devour the small bowlful, tipping it, flashing its emptiness to Greg before he put it into the dishwasher.

The morning passed in a haze of preparation; Robbie and Greg dealt with the food leaving the others to get in logs, coal, light the fires in the sitting room to have it warm for the afternoon and in the rarely used dining room where today, for once, the table was opened to its full length and elaborately laid; Noah even venturing outside to find a few strand of ivy and small clusters of holy leaves to twist delicately between the candles. During the morning, more presents were stealthily added to the pile under the tree in the sitting room, several of the young men sneaking in when no one was paying them any attention.

It was after one o'clock before Finn arrived back from the Abbey, bursting in through the backs door, bringing a blast of icy cold air with him.

"Oh that smells so good!" he exclaimed, catching Greg to him.

"Right! Go and get changed," laughed Greg as Finn spun him into his arms, "dinner's all ready, we're just waiting on you!"

"Five minutes," said Finn, letting go of Greg, heading to the door, "unless you want to come with me and make it ten," he added, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Go!" exclaimed Greg.

In much less than five minutes, Finn was back downstairs, out of uniform; chased again from the kitchen by Greg and Robbie, he was sent to gather the others in the dining room.

The Christmas dinner prepared by Greg and Robbie was everything a Christmas meal should be; a light and delicate starter followed by the well cooked and tender turkey, matched with sausages wrapped in bacon and mountains of vegetables, all dressed with rich dark gravy. And followed by Christmas pudding, mince pies or plain ice cream.

"Oh I don't think I will ever need to eat again," groaned Jackson, pushing his chair back from the table. "That was fantastic guys, thank you."

A general murmur of thanks ran around the table.

"It was alright, wasn't it," said Robbie, beginning to gather up the dishes.

"It was more than alright," grinned Jackson. "Leave that, we'll clear up, you two have done enough."

It didn't take long to clear up, to put the remains of the meal into the fridge, the dishes into the dishwasher, to make coffee and carry it through to the sitting room.

"Aaron, you're the youngest," announced Finn, "you can play Santa and dish out the presents."

With childish delight Aaron scooted to the floor to kneel by the surprisingly sizable pile of presents; he began reading the labels on each parcel, handing them to each recipient.

Unwrapping, admiring the gifts took a while; unlike the morning when in the excitement paper was ripped and shredded in their haste to reach the gifts, now the unwrapping was more measured, time taken to look and admire, to squirm with pleasure at a gift received with delight. Jackson blushed as deep red as the tee shirt he was wearing as Finn and Greg, Robbie and Simon unwrapped their gifts, a drawing of each couple, carefully framed. From Greg, there were hampers of homemade jams, pickles and chutneys for each of the other couples.

Intrigued, Finn picked up a small, almost flat square present; it had nothing written on it but his name. He looked around his gathered friends.

"That's from me," said Noah awkwardly, "it's not much...I..."

"Don't," interrupted Finn, "presents should be about thoughts and wishes and caring, not money."

Noah flicked his eyes across the array of presents already unwrapped, seeing his philosophy in the gifts already exchanged.

"This is lovely," exclaimed Finn, pulling the leather bracelet from the paper, holding it up to see the purple beads at each end, the three linked in the middle. "Where did you find it?"

"I found the leather and beads in town," said Noah, suddenly shy.

"You mean you made it," asked Greg, finding his own small parcel, undoing it as he spoke. Unwrapping a bracelet the twin of Finn's.

"We used to make them as kids," said Noah quietly, "when we were supposed to be mending the fishing nets.

"Thank you," said Finn, quickly leaning towards him, hugging him for a brief, fleeting moment.

The movement surprised him, the unexpectedly close contact, he held himself rigid, not returning it then it was over before he had time to collect his thoughts, but he could feel the imprint of Finn's arms around him, their strength, the feeling of security that washed over him.

Pulling back, Finn held out his wrist for Noah to show him how to fasten the bracelet, watching as his long fingers neatly twisted the end beads through gaps left for them.

The other four men had found their own small parcels now, all of them murmuring their thanks as they unwrapped their gifts; Robbie and Simon receiving bracelets with the orange beads while Aaron and Jackson's were red.

"Open yours now," Finn said quietly to Noah.

Noah picked up the parcel; he had been surprised when one had been placed in front of him, now he picked it up, almost scared of it. It was soft, he squeezed it gently.

"Hurry up," exclaimed Aaron.

His words broke the tension Noah had felt, knotting his stomach and he pulled at the paper. Out tumbled a scarf, beanie hat and matching gloves. Noah laughed; they looked so cosy, so safe, perfect.

"We didn't knit them," admitted Aaron, stating the obvious. "Try the gloves on," he added as Noah wrapped the scarf around his neck.

Doing as he was bid, Noah picked up the gloves and slid his hand into first one then tried to do the same with the second.

Something was in there; paper, folded paper. Carefully he removed it. With surprising delicacy, Noah began unfolding the paper; there was ribbon too, tiny slivers of metallic ribbon, tying, knotting. Emerging from the square of paper, shapes, linked shapes; it took a moment of puzzled starting as he teased out the shapes before Noah realised what it was. As he worked, he wasn't aware that the other men had stopped what they were doing and were watching him, holding their breaths, hoping he'd like it, wondering if he would understand.

Carefully he smoothed out the paper; hands, six linked hands in a single chain, another hand, separate but attached to each end of the chain by threads of the metallic ribbon, joining them, creating a circle. Noah stared at it for a moment, then began looking at each hand more carefully; they were decorated, each one individually...six decorated paper hands already joined, six people gathered in the room, watching him, a seventh hand, undecorated, linked by threads that pulled them close together. Staring, understanding, he felt a lump beginning to form in his throat... he swallowed... and was surprised to feel a sharp pricking sensation at his eyes, he blinked hard once, twice.

"I need a drink," announced Aaron, breaking the tension in the room as he stood, ready to move.

"Thank you," whispered Noah. He couldn't say any more; suddenly he knew what it meant to have his breath taken away, to be speechless. If he tried to speak he might not be able to stop the tears that were so close to the surface.

"Lager? Wine? Anyone want anything else?" continued Aaron, moving towards the door.

For a moment silence hung in the air.

"I'll stick to wine," said Greg abruptly; he felt a little overwhelmed at the feelings, the emotion, he could sense running round the room, "and I expect Noah will too," he glanced at the younger man.

Aaron nodded and slipped from the room, not waiting to hear from anyone else.

"It was Jackson's idea," explained Finn, glancing across at Jackson who suddenly found a speck of fluff on his jumper very interesting. "He did the drawing and cutting; we just decorated a hand each."

"It's amazing," breathed Noah, still staring at it, turning it gently around in his fingers. "And the hat, scarf and gloves are pretty decent too," he smiled.

Aaron returned with half a dozen cans of lager and a bottle of wine, disappearing again for glasses; bringing a large tin of sweets with him when he came back in to the room for a second time.

"How can you possibly thing of sweeties after that huge lunch," said Simon, craning his neck to see into the tin, rummaging to find his favourite flavours.

"Easily," countered Aaron smugly.

Their banter eased the emotional tension; the intensity and conversation returned to normal as the last of the presents were opened, as the lager and wine flowed again, as sweets were eaten and the Queen chattered away in the corner of the room, unheeded.

"We should go for a walk or something," said Robbie after the last present had been opened and the snowfield of paper cleared away.

"It'll be dark soon," protested Jackson. "You should have suggested that straight after dinner."

"Yeah, silly me," laughed Robbie, making himself even more comfortable, stretching lazily on the sofa.

Afternoon eased into evening; they ate and drank steadily, they talked and laughed and watched mindless television programmes until late into the night. It had been a perfect day.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

It was still pitch dark when Noah awoke, cramping pain in his guts. He tried to ignore it, twisting, turning in the bed, trying to find a position to sink into sleep again, but his body wouldn't let him. He had eaten too much; his abused bowel was protesting in the only way it knew how. He could feel a sheen of clammy sweat beading over his body as nausea threatened to claim him. He got out of bed, stood, then paced, nothing seemed to help; he curled back into the bed. In the end, he pushed the covers back with only seconds to spare as with a vengeance the colostomy worked and unable to contain the contents, the bag burst.

The foul, faecally smell filled his nostrils, filled the room. He felt soiled, filthy, as he scrabbled to find a plastic bag to contain the mess; he needed water, the bathroom, a shower – he wanted rid of the horrible thing. Hot tears coursed unheeded down his cheeks.

He did the best he could, wrapping the ruptured, smelly bag and its disgusting contents into one, two, three carrier bags, glad that Greg had given him a plentiful supply. He grabbed a towel, his few toiletries, clean clothes and quietly opened his bedroom door, making his way down the first flight of stairs to the bathroom on the floor below.

He slipped into the bathroom, pushing the door closed behind him. The shower was over the bath, the shower head coming from the taps; quickly Noah turned the taps, letting his hand judge the temperature of the water before he climbed over the edge of the bath and pulled the plastic curtain behind him.

The water was hot, cleansing; soon the room was filled with steam. Carefully he soaped his body, biting his lip as he turned slightly under the water, the cascading spray clean the delicate folds of smooth pink skin that made the colostomy, biting harder as he used his fingers to clean away the sticky remnant of glue that fixed the last bag to his skin. Reluctantly he turned the taps, stopping the water; he slung a towel low on his hips and stepped out of the bath, moving to the sink to clean his teeth. Behind him, the door that he had forgotten to lock pushed open.

Still more than half asleep, Simon didn't think it strange that the hall light was on; he didn't hear the soft trickle of water into the sink in the bathroom, his eyes barely open, he pushed open the door.

It was bright, warm and steamy still from the heat of the shower; it woke him up a little, he jumped in surprise, seeing the figure standing at the sink.

"Shit! Sorry I didn't know you were... fuck! Noah what...?"

He stopped speaking, suddenly wide awake and staring at Noah, at his body. Not at the red rose that bloomed unnaturally low on his abdomen, but at the scars, still pink, still only a matter of months old, that crossed his stomach, some harsh, jagged, some neater, straighter, clean medical cuts.

"Noah... what the fuck happened to you?" Simon dragged his eyes from the younger man's body and looked into his eyes, into the pain he saw there.

"Don't Simon..." began Noah, shaking his head a little.

"Were you in an accident?" asked Simon, knowing the answer even before he asked the question but asking it anyway, hoping, silently pleading, for him to say yes.

Noah said nothing; he bit his lip, looked to the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere but at the man standing in front of him, concern on his face, waiting for an answer he was scared to give, scared of the floodgates it would open.

"France?" asked Simon quietly, "did this happen in France?"

Noah nodded, just one single small movement of acknowledgement in the feeling of numbness that engulfed his body; he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't run away.

"Bastards," breathed Simon, caught for the moment in the significance of Noah's silent admission. He felt lost, unsure what to do, what to say, how to help. He wished Finn were here, he'd know what to say, how to comfort the young man standing achingly quiet in front of him.

"Fuck!" he spat, suddenly angry. Angry at the physical pain that Noah must have endured, at the sick men, his family, he reminded himself, who had somehow done this; angry at Noah for not telling them—how irrational was that the thinking side of his mind chimed in, jangling one thought tumbling against the next in quick succession. Angry at himself too, for not knowing what to do.

"I'll get Finn," he said, taking a step backwards towards the door.

"No, please," said Noah quickly, halting him. "I don't want anyone else to see... this..." a sob caught in his throat, cutting off his words.

"Hush... it's okay..." Simon moved forward, his hands reaching out for his shoulders. "God, you're freezing, c'mon, let's get some clothes on you."

There was a second towel hanging over the rail; Simon caught it up and draped it around Noah's shoulders, rubbing gently. When he thought he was dry enough he pulled the clean tee shirt Noah had brought with him, over his head, holding it as Noah pushed his arms though.

As the soft material sighed down, covering his body, hiding his scars, Noah breathed a little easier.

"What do we need to do about... about this?" asked Simon awkwardly, nodding towards the sinister rose.

"There's a new bag, on the windowsill there," said Noah.

Simon picked up the small bag and looked at it, turning it round in his hands, unsure quite what to do with it.

"You need to pull the backing off the gel adhesive," explained Noah.

Simon nodded, seeing what he meant. "Do you want me to..." he stopped, hesitating; he wasn't sure if Noah would be happy with him touching him, fixing the bag.

"Please," whispered Noah "you need…" he paused again, taking a deep, steadying breath, "…you need to make sure the skin is dry… before you try to stick the bag down."

Simon knelt, he caught up the corner of the second towel and dabbed carefully around the edge of the rose of skin. Without really thinking, without considering what he was doing, he slid the tip of his index over the skin surrounding the rose.

Noah flinched, jerking backwards at his first touch.

Simon could hear his harsh, anxious breathing as he forced himself to stand still. "Sorry," he whispered.

"No, you're fine," replied Noah; he had his eyes shut, his teeth gritted as he tried to ignore what Simon was doing, trying to shut it from his sight, his mind; for a few seconds he tried to pretend he wasn't there at all.

Simon slid the tip of his index finger over the skin surrounding the rose; it was dry now, it seemed dry anyway, the skin a little darker, a little tender looking. He took a deep breath, steadying his own nerves; it felt so unreal, to be kneeling on the floor of Finn and Greg's bathroom, in the middle of the night with a young man he hardly knew, doing something so personal, so intimate. He held the bag in place an inch from Noah's stomach, judging the correct position for it to rest. With infinite care he eased the small open hole of the bag around the sinister dark rose of skin; when he was satisfied, pressing the adhesive gel pad firmly against his stomach to secure it. He felt Noah relax, just a fraction, as the bag covered the unnatural opening.

Simon stood up. "You get your jarmy trousers on and get back up to bed; I'll get you a hot drink, warm you up." He smiled, a small, tight smile of reassurance.

"Thanks Si..." breathed Noah, not looking at him.

"I won't be a minute," said Simon. He slipped out of the door then paused for a second; listening, hoping to hear Noah start to move, get his clothes on for going back up the stairs. He heard the breathy intake of emotion, harshly controlled. Biting his lip, he slipped quietly away to the kitchen.

There was only a small side light giving a warm, dim glow in the bedroom; Noah was under the covers with the electric blanket on when Simon returned, two mugs of hot chocolate carried carefully in his hands.

"Bum," said Simon, holding out one of the mugs to him.

"What...I..." stammered Noah, suddenly uncertain.

"Shift over a bit," continued Simon, "I'm not freezing my arse off while you're tucked in there all cosy."

Reluctant now, Noah moved a little, his mind protesting even as his body complied; he hadn't expected this.

"D'you want a hug," asked Simon as he slid carefully in beside him.

"What d'you want me to do?" Noah whispered the question, trying to force all conscious thought, all emotion into submission.

"Do?" repeated Simon, confused. "What do you mean do? I asked you if you wanted a hug... y'know... to make you feel better." He looked at the younger man; even in the half light he could see the apprehension in his eyes.

"Noah..." he said slowly, "...what did you think I was asking you?" His words were calm, gentle, but his mind was buzzing with a sudden horrible clarity, with a sudden vision of Noah's life.

Beside him, Noah said nothing, wouldn't look at him, his lips compressed into a thin line, his body rigid with the effort of controlling himself.

"Fuck Noah," breathed Simon. Anger suddenly filled him, raging anger at whatever shit had filled Noah's life; almost roughly he pulled the other man to him, sliding his arm around his shoulder.

He felt more than heard the deep wracking sobs that shook Noah's body; he held him tighter, quietly hushing him, muttering soft nonsense words of comfort as his fingers traced small circular movements at his temple, catching in his hair.

At last the sobs stopped; Simon thought he had drifted off to sleep he was so quiet, so still.

Noah had his eyes shut; he was unmoving but he was far from sleep; his mind was tumbling one confused thought on top of the next but his body was relishing the feeling of the arm around him, holding him, feeling so safe, so secure, feeling as though nothing could touch him, hurt him now. It was a feeling to be cherished, every second appreciated, stored away in his memory against an uncertain future. His mind wandered, he couldn't remember the last time, any time, when the person beside him hadn't paid to be there, paid to fuck him or be fucked, when there hadn't been violence, however subtle, when there hadn't been sex. When there had been nothing but comfort.

"Will you turn the light off," murmured Noah against Simon chest at last.

"Sure," replied Simon, stretching the arm that wasn't caught around Noah's shoulders, reaching out until he could flick the switch.

As the room plunged into darkness, he felt Noah move a little, ease back from him, but not far, not out of his embrace.

"You shouldn't be here... with me," murmured Noah, "if you knew..."

"Knew what Noah?" Simon asked quietly. He held his breath, not sure if Noah would answer, not sure he wanted to know the answer, yet perhaps the thoughts that were running through his head were worse than anything he could say.

"What I am... was..."

He spoke so quietly, Simon could hardly hear him. He took a breath, a deep breath and held it, willing himself to find the right words.

"Noah…" he said slowly, "whatever it is… is it over now? Are you safe now?"

"Yeah, well over," a half sob, half bitter laugh escaped his lips. "It's all over, everything's over."

The words were simple, redolent with hurt, with pain that Simon didn't understand. "Tell me," he whispered.

"What do you want to know Simon?" He sat up now, pulling away, his voice suddenly harsh. "I'm a slut, a whore, an escort, a rent boy, a boy toy," he reeled off the derogatory names one after the other, the words cracking from his lips like pistol shots. "I fucked and got fucked - for money! There is always some cougar trying to believe she's still young and attractive, wanting a pretty boy on her arm, in her bed or some man still telling himself he's not gay even as I'm sucking his cock or he's ramming it into my arse. And they're all willing to pay."

The tears came then, hot tears of anger and despair; Noah had squirmed away from Simon, now he was leaning against the wall that pressed close to the side of the small bed, the tears falling disregarded in his distress.

At first he tried to resist as Simon moved to pull him back into his embrace, his hands trying to push him away.

"Noah! Noah don't!" Simon struggled to capture his flailing hands, catching them, holding them even as Noah battered uselessly against his chest, his distress robbing him of any strength.

Simon caught his wrists, holding them firmly. "It's okay… shush… it's fine…" he repeated until he felt the fight go from Noah and he sagged, exhausted, back towards him.

For a minute or two Simon just held him, listening as the sobs subsided, as his breathing settled. It had explained a little, but there were more questions he had to ask.

"The scars, Noah," he prompted, "what the fuck happened?"

The silence stretched, Simon thought he wasn't going to answer.

"What happened in France," he prompted, pushing, guessing.

"Tiny," said Noah quietly. "Tiny stabbed me."

"That was more than just a single stab wound," countered Simon.

"He was cornered, angry… it was a big knife… he lashed out… they shot him seconds later," Noah paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. "He fell against me, half on top of me; I remember watching our blood mingle, thinking 'this is it, of all the god-awful people to die with.' It was three days before I woke up, not dead after all."

"Don't wish you had been... ever," whispered Simon, answering the unspoken pain in his last words.

Against his chest, Noah moved his head slowly; Simon couldn't work out if it was a nod or a shake, if he was agreeing or disagreeing with him; again he wished Finn were with him, finding the right words.

"But I still don't understand," mused Simon, almost to himself, hardly expecting Noah to answer, "what were you doing in France anyway? I thought you had fallen out with Tiny and the others?"

"I had," agreed Noah, his voice almost a sob of irony, "but I returned—a real prodigal. And I gave him what he wanted."

"What was that?" whispered Simon, unable to stop the question. This time he knew beyond all doubt that he didn't want to hear the answer.

"My arse," the words were a whisper filled with pain. "For more than two months I let him fuck me whenever, however he wanted."

"But why Noah? Why on earth would you let him do that?" Simon asked, genuinely puzzled.

"I had to," replied Noah. "He had to trust me."

"But why?" repeated Simon, struggling to understand.

"Because I set him up." Noah admitted quietly. His voice was neutral, the earlier emotion absent. "All of them."

"You what?" exclaimed Simon

"I set them up..." replied Noah in the same emotionless voice, "I wanted them to pay... for Archie. Although I meant them to stand trial for his murder, I'm glad they're dead."

"But you were hurt too," said Simon.

"Yes," laughed Noah bitterly. "That wasn't part of the plan, but perhaps I deserved it."

"Never," declared Simon firmly, "don't ever think that; what they did to you... and Archie and Aaron..." he hugged Noah firmly to him, holding him, even as his mind spun with this new information. "How did you..?" he began, curious despite himself.

"I've told you what I did... how I made a living, it wasn't too hard to find someone, a woman, rich, bored and what do you know, her husband owned a boat," the bitterness returned as he spoke. "It was going well until just before they were going to steal the boat; he realised I'd betrayed them; he was trying to bargain with them... my life for their freedom... someone fired a gun... I didn't even feel the knife at first... I just thought he was punching, punching me until I saw the blood... so much blood."

Simon shook his head; his mind was buzzing, there was so much to take in, so much didn't make sense, so many questions still to ask, but they would have to wait; if he couldn't think straight any more, goodness knows how Noah must be feeling.

He sat quietly, listening to the silence in the house, wishing it would drown the noise in his head. Noah said nothing more; he didn't move from his embrace; at last Simon realised he had fallen asleep, soothed by his closeness, by his absent-minded movement of his fingers in his hair. Simon allowed himself to close his eyes, to rest, not to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

They were still sleeping when Robbie found them the next morning. It was light when he'd woken and he was surprised to find the bed beside him empty and cold. Pulling a jumper on top of his pyjamas, he went downstairs, sure then he would find Simon drinking coffee with Finn or Greg. He found Greg, but he was alone with coffee and a two day old newspaper and had not laid eyes on Simon that morning.

An uncomfortable twinge of apprehension slid coldly down Robbie's spine. He went back upstairs, sure Aaron and Jackson's door had been closed as he went downstairs and if Simon had been on an early morning visit for coffee and a gossip, the door would have been open, the sound of voices and laughter would have leaked out into the corridor. He climbed the second staircase to the top floor of the house.

It was Noah's bedroom door that stood open. They were still sleeping when Robbie looked in; Simon propped up against the pillows, Noah curled into him. He backed out quietly, returning to the kitchen to make coffee to take upstairs; he knew Simon, knew the caring nature that he often kept hidden under a facade of facetiousness and wondered how he came to have Noah cradled in his arms.

"Room for a little one," he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed, nudging his hip against Simon's leg.

"You're not so little, sweetheart," mumbled Simon, hardly moving, still almost asleep. Until within seconds, reality, wakefulness, remembrance crashed quickly in on him, forcing his eyes open.

"Shit, Noah, I'm sorry, you don't need to hear stuff like that!" he gabbled awkwardly, glancing at Robbie, trying to send a message with his eyes.

"It's okay," said Noah, "it's nice actually." His voice was quiet, resigned, almost sad.

"Noah and I have been talking," began Simon slowly, moving enough to take his coffee from Robbie but still keeping one arm around the other man's shoulders.

"Simon... please... don't," interrupted Noah.

"Shush, it's fine, it'll be okay," reassured Simon, "you've been through such shite—and I don't think you've told me all of it yet—have you?" He looked at Noah, the question reflected in his eyes.

Noah said nothing but Simon could see that he was right, could see Noah biting his lip, hurting so much.

"We need to talk to the guys," continued Simon quietly.

"No!" spat Noah, jerking upright, his panic clear on his face. "I can't... they'll hate me!"

Simon shook his head. "Noah let that bastard repeatedly rape him while he set the whole lot of them up to be caught by the police," he said to Robbie, his voice harsh with raw emotion. "Tiny stabbed him just before he was shot dead. Before that he survived by prostituting himself. There—does that just about cover what you told me?" He looked at Noah, his eyebrows raised in a question.

"Did you need to be that brutal," Robbie glared at Simon. He moved closer, sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hand through the covers on Noah's leg, the only bit of him he could reach with ease.

"Maybe not," shrugged Simon, "but look what you did, you moved towards him, touched him; he needed to see that. I hope he noticed," he turned towards Noah. "Ah fuck," he sighed seeing the silent tears sliding unheeded down Noah's cheeks. He pulled the younger man close to him again, looking over his head to his partner's eyes.

Robbie's gaze softened, Simon never failed to surprise him; he had been right of course; they had all sensed there was more to Noah than he was telling them and he wasn't surprised it involved his family, but they had all warmed to Noah, all felt comfortable with him, despite his sudden appearance in their midst.

"Simon's right," said Robbie. "The others..." he paused, shaking his head at the horror of what he had just heard, even in its briefest, baldest form. "We've all been affected by what they did—in one way or another—nothing like your life, but what happened to Aaron touched us all. So, in a way, we're all in this together." He smiled at Noah, a smile with sadness in it, but with reassurance too.

"Take as long as you need," he continued, "but come down and talk to us."

Noah sat up, away from Simon; he brushed the heel of his hand hard over his eyes, brushing the tears away. Swallowing hard, he nodded.

Robbie stood up, he moved to the door, then stopped, waiting for Simon.

"It'll be okay," whispered Simon as he got off the bed.

"Simon!" Noah called him back. "Will you tell them..." he asked quietly, "...at least the basics," he smiled weakly, "you kinda had it off pat."

"I'm sorry," mouthed Simon. "I'll tell them," he added aloud, holding Noah's eyes for a second more before he slipped from the room.

Outside Robbie was waiting for him; saying nothing, he pulled him into his arms and hugged him, gently rubbing the space between his shoulder blades.

"Shush, it's okay," he muttered.

"Oh Robbie!" exclaimed Simon, moving away towards the stairs leading them down to the floor below. "You didn't see the scars, they're awful; it's a wonder he survived," he gave a single bitter laugh, "though I don't think he cared about surviving. And I don't think he's told me everything." He pursed his lips together, steadying his emotions. "What time is it? Is anyone else up?"

"Greg was downstairs when I got the coffee, the others were still sleeping," replied Robbie.

"Can you be arsed making coffee for everyone," asked Simon, "bring it back up here? I'll see if anybody else is awake."

"Finn's room?" suggested Robbie

"Bed's bigger," agreed Simon, smiling gratefully at Robbie.

Robbie hugged him briefly again before turning to go down the stairs.

Simon turned towards the door of the room Aaron and Jackson were occupying; he knocked the door once, loudly, then went in.

They were still sleeping; he could see them in the winter half light of the room, curled together. Saying nothing, he lifted the covers and slid into the bed next to Jackson, curling himself into the curve of his body, hugging himself.

"Si?" questioned Jackson sleepily, "what's up?"

Simon said nothing, the enormity of what he'd seen, what Noah had told him was catching up with him; he felt overwhelmed, he felt as though he wanted to hide; God knows how Noah coped, he thought.

"Si?" repeated Jackson, sitting up. Simon usually bounced into their room, cheekily demanding they make space for him; he didn't slide quietly in beside them, needing their closeness. Jackson felt a chill of apprehension run the length of his spine. He put his hand to Simon's shoulder, pulling him round to face him.

"It's Noah... we need to talk... Robbie's taking coffee to Finn and Greg's room, I just needed a moment..." he sighed, not looking Jackson in the eye.

"Simon! C'mon! What's up with Noah?" demanded Jackson, nudging Aaron awake as he spoke.

"He told me a bit about France, what happened... he nearly died... that would have been both of them."

"Both of them?" questioned Jackson, "what're you talking about?"

"He nearly killed him... I mean Tiny tried to kill him," said Simon.

"Fuck!" Like Archie?" Aaron sat up, dragging the cover up with him.

"Yeah," agreed Simon, "though he stabbed him too," he paused. "Come through, I don't think I can say this more than once." He swung his feet from the bed; he was reluctant to move, he didn't want to move and think about what Noah had told him; but he had had his few moments respite, he had agreed to tell them.

"Too?" said Aaron quietly, "you said he stabbed him too? So he raped him as well?"

Simon nodded. "Let's go next door, I'll tell you what he told me."

Greg and Robbie were only seconds behind them, arriving with the coffee, waking the still sleeping Finn, waiting as he woke up enough to understand that something had happened; that Simon had to talk to them, tell them.

They were all silent, crowded onto the bed, finding comfort and security as they sat or curled against their partners, as Simon told them of his unexpected meeting with Noah in the bathroom, of the scars that disfigured his body, of what he told him of his life.

"Fuck!" breathed Finn as Simon stopped speaking.

No one else said anything; they were all lost in their own thoughts, imagining the horror of the last few months of Noah's life.

"Has anyone heard him go downstairs yet?" asked Finn, looking around at his friends.

No one had, although they hadn't been listening; they had been engrossed in the narrative, the pictures unfolding before them.

"I'll go downstairs, see if he's there," said Greg. "You're going up to his room?"

Finn nodded. "I expect he's still up there," he said sadly. He slid from the bed and turned to search for a jumper to pull on over the make-shift pyjamas he was wearing. "I can't imagine how he's feeling now," added Finn.

"We'll come down in a bit," said Jackson; he glanced at Aaron wondering how he was feeling. He hadn't said anything: he had listened silently to Simon and now sat looking preoccupied. Jackson stood then held out his hand to him, pulling him up and leading him back to their room.

Finn slowly, quietly climbed the stairs to the top floor; the door to Noah's room stood ajar, he could hear the sound of movement from within the room. He moved to the door and pushed it wider open.

Noah didn't hear him at first; he had his back to the door, engrossed in his task.

"Running away?" asked Finn after he had stood, watching him stuff his few clothes and possessions into his rucksack.

"I figured I'd save you having to ask me to leave," replied Noah, not turning round, not stopping what he was doing.

"Ah. Right," said Finn; he moved further into the room. "I hadn't realised you were psychic and could read my mind. So can you read Simon's mind too? Robbie's? And what about the rest of the guys?" There was a growing edge to his voice as he spoke.

"Sarcasm Vicar," replied Noah still not looking at Finn.

"It beats being fucking mad at you," snapped Finn, a sudden flash of anger searing through him.

Noah turned then, to face the hot fury in Finn's eyes.

"He told you then? Simon; he told you what I did? That I was a prostitute? That I'd let anyone fuck me if they paid enough."

"So you're using that as an excuse, are you? It's easier to run... to assume you know what we... what any of us... are thinking, feeling, than to come downstairs and talk to us, tell us how you got there," replied Finn angrily. He moved to the bed and started rummaging amongst the few bits still lying; not finding what he wanted, he pulled the rucksack towards him.

It was in the second pocket he searched; he pulled out the folded piece of paper, he didn't need to undo it, both of them knew what it was.

"You're making assumptions," growled Finn, "jumping to conclusions. You should at least let them tell you if this means nothing now. You've faced some of the worst shit that can happen," said Finn, his voice softening, "face the men who gave you this; they're not asking you to leave. And neither am I." He dropped the folded paper back on the bed; the slivers of shiny tape catching the light. He took a step, two steps towards leaving the room.

"Finn..." Noah's voice was quiet.

"Finn turned, his face carefully neutral.

"Finn... I'm scared..." Noah looked to the floor, not meeting Finn's gaze, not seeing him take the two strides needed to cross the room; aware of nothing but his own distress until the taller man's arms encircled him, hugging him firmly.

"Don't be," hushed Finn, "there's nothing to be scared of, trust them." He eased his arms back and looked down at Noah. "Trust them," he repeated, "they are loving and generous men, who I'm glad to call my friends; give them a chance."

Noah nodded.

Finn smiled then; he dropped one arm away from Noah, the other slid down his arm until their hands caught. Gently he led Noah from the room.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Aaron flopped onto the bed, saying nothing only staring at the ceiling; Jackson lay down beside him, sliding gently lower, pulling the covers over then both. He eased his arm around Aaron's shoulders and pulled him towards him, holding him.

For some time, time they couldn't count, they lay silent, enfolded in each other's arms, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

At last Jackson spoke. "We'd better get up, go down stairs."

"How can I face him again?" murmured Aaron, voicing his thoughts rather than asking a question to which he expected an answer.

"What d'you mean? How can you not?" asked Jackson, confused, wondering where he was coming from with this.

"I made such a fuss... god! I was such a fucking drama queen," said Aaron slowly, faint horror in his tone.

"Don't Aaron!" Jackson spoke sharply. "Stop that now! It's not a fucking competition!" He sat up and glared at Aaron. "It's horrible, all of it, but it's not about who was fucked the worst."

Aaron flushed. "No. You're right... sorry," he said awkwardly, "it's just..." he put his hands to his face, rubbed up and down, slowly, allowing the palms of his hands to push into his flesh.

"Just nothing," cut in Jackson. "Now take some deep breaths, accept you've both been to hell and back but in separate hand carts."

"Sorry," breathed Aaron again, "just having a wobble." He sat up and swung his legs from the bed, once again burying his face in his hands for a moment as he struggled to regain his composure.

"You're allowed," said Jackson kindly, "just don't let it grow arms and legs, okay? And anyway—I think it was me that was the drama queen."

Aaron gave him a watery half smile as he nodded, determined at that moment to try and batter down the emotions that he could feel beginning to overwhelm him. Slowly he began gathering his clothes to pull on, showering could wait.

...

The kitchen was the warmest room in the house that early in the morning; Robbie and Simon made their way down there without bothering to go back to their room. Robbie didn't think anyone would really want any breakfast although absently the thought crossed his mind that Noah should try to eat something.

"You okay?" he muttered as he dumped the mugs he had brought down with him into the sink and began washing them; more coffee at least would be needed.

"Yeah," sighed Simon, "just trying to get my head round it all." He closed his eyes, shaking his head a little as if he was trying to dislodge the pictures in his mind.

"Oh come here," said Robbie, moving to gather him into his arms, disregarding his still damp hands.

For a moment they just stood, quietly holding each other, glad of each other.

"It'll be alright," breathed Robbie into Simon's hair, his face buried his neck.

"Will it?" questioned Simon bleakly.

"Yes," replied Robbie firmly. "Hey! Where's all your strength from earlier gone?" he asked pushing Simon away, holding him at arm's length as he looked into his face. "Aaron's strong; he'll cope with hearing this and you don't think Finn and Greg will let Noah walk away until they know he's going to be okay, do you?"

Simon huffed in agreement.

The back door pushed open, interrupting them; Greg entered backwards carrying a wicker basket full of logs.

"Had to do something," he muttered, struggling against the awkward door. "There's another outside if anyone fancies bringing that in."

Even as he spoke, Simon jumped to grab the door, stopping it swinging back onto him. "I'll get it," he said in answer to Greg's request. "Robbie's on the coffee."

"Think I could do with something stronger than coffee," mumbled Greg as he disappeared towards the sitting room.

"Might not be a bad idea," grimaced Simon as he turned to go through the door Greg had just entered by, searching for the second basket of logs.

"Very good idea," agreed Robbie, "except that it would probably be best if we all kept a clear head, at least for the moment."

"Yes, I know," Simon's voice floated in through the door that Robbie was now holding open, "but I can dream of a can or three, can't I?"

None of them heard Finn and Noah coming downstairs and into the kitchen; Robbie, still in the room, noticed them first, he smiled encouragingly.

Finn had his hand on Noah's arm, he squeezed gently. "Where's Greg?" he asked.

"I'm here," said Greg, coming into the room behind them. "I was just putting a basket of logs through for later; Simon's bringing another in; it's warmer in here though for..." he let his words trail away.

"Finn nodded; gently he pushed Noah towards the large table, indicating that he should choose a seat, moving aside as Simon came through with the second basket of logs

"Is anyone wanting anything to eat?" asked Finn. "Noah, you should try to have something at least."

Noah shook his head. "I couldn't," he quickly refused, "I'd be ill... honestly." He could feel his stomach churning as he spoke; he knew the conversation hadn't finished; while Simon might have told them some of it, he knew he would have to fill in the gaps, answer their gentle questions. Maybe he should just tell them everything, everything; get it over and done with.

Finn quirked his eyebrows at him. "Okay, but you'll eat later, won't you?" It was a statement masquerading as a question.

Noah nodded, the thought of food, any food, making him feel sick although they didn't need to know that. Accepting a mug of coffee from Robbie, he slid into a seat at the table and stared at the rich dark liquid, swirling it gently in the mug, losing himself to the repetitive movement.

Robbie, Simon and Greg kept a murmur of conversation going as Finn and Noah were quiet, lost in their own thoughts though they all knew they were just waiting until Aaron and Jackson appeared.

It seemed hours until they came downstairs and joined the others in the kitchen; it was probably less than ten minutes.

Aaron's eyes went directly to Noah; they looked at each other, eyes holding each other intently. Out of the seven men present, Aaron was the only one who had even the slightest idea of what Noah must have endured during his time with Tiny; he was the only one who could picture the man, his size, his power, the vicious twist of his mind. He crossed the room to where Noah was sitting, watching his approach.

Noah watched him warily; it was only seconds but time enough for a wave of apprehension to flood through his body. He stood, ready to meet head on whatever Aaron had to say to him.

But Aaron said nothing; he couldn't have found the words at that moment to express the confusion of feelings that tumbled around inside him. He saw the flicker of fear that swept through Noah; it was time enough for the thought to cross his mind that he wondered what Noah expected him to say. Their bodies were almost touching when he pulled Noah towards him, pulling him closer, hugging him; feeling a moment of resistance before the other man accepted the hug and seemed to dissolve into it as quiet tears wracked his slender body.

The other men faded from their consciousness; for the moment there was just the two of them, their memories, so different yet touching on similarity and Archie... joining them, crossing the divide between them.

Finn bit his lip, watching them; he caught Jackson's eye and heaved a sigh of relief; he hadn't been the only one wondering how Aaron would react on learning what happened Noah; what Noah allowed to happen.

"There's a hell of an elephant in this room," announced Simon, as Aaron and Noah pulled apart, as they all slumped into chairs or stood, leaning against the worktop, awkwardly waiting. He looked directly at Noah. "I've told them what you told me," he said; "and they're all still here. So why don't you tell us the rest?" His voice was harsh, almost accusing; he glared across the room at Noah, holding his gaze.

Robbie held his breath; after seeing them together earlier, upstairs in the bedroom, he trusted that Simon knew what he was doing with Noah, but God! he was pushing him hard.

For a moment time stood still; for a moment it seemed as though Noah wasn't going to say anything, was going to deny that there was any more to tell.

Watching him intently, Simon knew the moment that he made the decision to talk, to tell them everything. He could see it, the resignation, the acceptance that it was inevitable, that they weren't going to let him get away with telling half truths. That they cared enough.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Simon pushed himself away from the worktop that he had been leaning against until he stood behind Noah's chair; he put his hands on his shoulders and began gentle caressing movements, his fingers slowly rubbing away the tension he could feel knotting the muscles.

Noah twisted his head, looking at Simon, wanting to read the messages in his eyes.

"Go on," Simon mouthed silently, "it's okay."

Noah took a last, steadying breath.

"He used to touch me... y'know and he made me touch him, do things... jerk him off. I was about thirteen... fourteen..." Noah didn't look at any of them; his eyes were on his fingers, twisting slowly together. "He took me fishing with him every weekend, every weekend..."

His voice softened painfully as memories overtook him.

"What about Archie?" asked Aaron quietly.

Noah shook his head. "I don't know... he had a weekend job... kept him out of the way a bit more. He always gave me fish... mum liked the free fish... payment," he paused, his voice full of bitter irony. "I haven't eaten fish since."

"I was seventeen when he raped me. I could cope with the rest... it had become routine, I didn't think about it, just did what I had to do to get it over with. But that... it's like that woke me up to what had been happening. I ran away. I called Archie; he brought my stuff but wouldn't come with me, if he had..." his voice caught on a sob. "But by that time Barney—the Boss—was out of prison; he'd done time for robbery but that didn't stop Tiny."

Noah paused, stretched backwards; Simon was still standing behind him, his fingers still absent-mindedly rubbing his shoulders as he listened to him and Noah pushed into his fingers, letting the rhythmic movement calm him.

"I swore to Archie I wouldn't go back, but I didn't tell him why—we had a bit of an argument—and I left." Noah spoke slowly, remembering; the pain of those days still so clear in his words.

Around him, the other men listened with rapt attention and mounting horror.

"I went down the coast; I was going to look for work on a fishing boat, but then I realised everyone for miles knew him... fishing, it's like family. I ended up at the docks... and found shit work on a cargo boat heading for Australia. Eventually I found a way to avoid the shitty-est of the work... so that's what I did... it wasn't so different and at least this time it was my choice..."

He stopped speaking; it was so hard, forcing the words out. He'd never spoken about it before; he'd done it, lived it, had been ashamed of it, but never spoken about it.

"Go on," breathed Greg. He tried to smile at Noah through the shock, the sadness he felt, tried to reassure him even as he blinked hard against the sharp tears threatening to fall. Beside him, Finn felt for his hand, gripping it fiercely.

"I kept doing it," Noah continued quietly. "I got a job in a bar but could earn far more in one night than a week—more than a week—in the bar. I was good, so good..." he laughed, a single bitter laugh, "...less than four years later I had a lovely waterfront apartment, plenty of money, I could pick and choose my clients. And then he killed Archie..."

They were all silent, all lost in their memories, memories of those horrible hours, days, just a few short months ago.

"So I came home and the rest you know; I went to the funeral then went to France, found them and began setting them up."

"How did you find them?" asked Robbie curiously. "I mean, the police couldn't...?"

"We're a big family, lots of relatives; after the funeral I borrowed a computer, hacked a couple of email accounts and found enough to tell me where they were."

"As easy as that?" questioned Jackson sharply.

Noah shook his head. "It was pretty deep, but I'm good and its family—I knew where to look. The police wouldn't have found it in a month of Sundays." His voice was low, quiet; perhaps he shouldn't have gone looking for them, perhaps he should have just left it, gone back to Australia and his comfortable, deviant lifestyle. But he hadn't, had he.

"Are you gay or straight, Noah?" asked Aaron suddenly into the quiet. He didn't look at him; he wasn't really looking at anybody, anything, it was harder than he thought, keeping it together, keeping his composure when all he wanted to do was run, hide, bury his head against the memories, the images that were crowding back into his mind. He didn't know why he had asked that question, why suddenly he wanted to know, it wasn't as if it mattered, not really; he had just spoken without really thinking.

For a moment he thought Noah wasn't going to answer, the silence stretched on, longer, beyond a comfortable second or two, ten, more.

"I don't know," the quiet admission eventually came, "I've never..." he stopped speaking again. Closing his eyes, he tilted his face up towards the ceiling. "I've never been with anyone... not without being paid." His voice cracked then; losing any remnant of control, the floodgates of emotion, held back until then, burst open. He slumped forward, silent sobs shaking his slender body.

Still behind him, Simon leant over, letting his arms slide from his shoulders down his chest; he linked his hands over his stomach and hugged him. His face was close to his ear, their cheeks rubbed together as Simon whispered quiet nonsense words into his ear. He glanced up at Robbie, looking for his support, looking for his confirmation that he had done the right thing, encouraging Noah to tell them all; that particular genie was out of the bottle and they couldn't put it back.

Around the table, the others began to move and shuffle awkwardly in their seats; they had needed to know and it had been every bit as horrible as they had imagined, but now they felt as though they were intruders on Noah's grief.

Next to him, Aaron sat quietly, lost in his own thoughts; he could imagine so much of it, he could see Tiny's face, he could remember the feel of his hands on his body, the sense of viciousness and danger that surrounded the man. Once again, he couldn't help but be glad that he was dead.

Greg turned and refilled the kettle, he needed to do something; he gathered the mugs, dragging them across the table and moving to the sink, giving them a cursory rinse before preparing to make more coffee. So much coffee, he thought; they would all be wired for the rest of the morning. As if they weren't already.

Noah didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to look at then, didn't want to look for accusation in their eyes, or pity. He had made his choices; he could live with them... most of the time. He sat forward, raising one hand to rest it for a second on Simon's arm in silent thanks before he shrugged, needing the space now.

"What about keeping healthy... staying safe... stuff like that," said Finn quietly. He didn't want to ask directly, but they all knew what he meant.

"I'm negative," admitted Noah, "or at least I was; always safe, never fucked without a condom until... until Tiny fucked me raw. I was still negative in hospital," he added quietly, "though I have to get tested again in a few months."

"The waiting's the worst," sympathised Greg, "between tests... for results. Been there, done that... Finn and I weren't always as sensible or careful as we should be," he looked over at Finn as they exchanged small, wry smiles of agreement. "But we were lucky," he added.

The sudden scrape of chair against wooden floor made then all jump; Aaron roughly pushed his chair backwards and stood.

"Can we do something, get out, go somewhere," he gabbled, desperation in his voice. "This is just too much... and if I feel like this," he shook his head, "I can't even begin to imagine how you're feeling, Noah." He paced away from the table, across the room to lean with his back to the sink, looking towards the rest of his friends.

"Most of the time I'm not," said Noah quietly.

"Sounds like a good idea," said Finn, his voice drowning Noah's voice.

"We're up for that," Robbie said, chiming against the other two speakers; he glanced over at Simon, his face looked drawn and tired, the emotion of the disturbed night and revealing morning etched on his face, in the slump of his body. He was usually so bright, so bubbly; the comedian of the group but Robbie knew there was a sensitive heart and soul hiding behind the comedy that he was sometimes afraid of showing. He had seen it at times when he was troubled by some kid at his school; he had seen it when Aaron or Jackson had been upset. And he could see it now, with Noah; some time out for a few hours would be good, for all of them, even though he knew the conversation was far from over. "Where are you thinking of going?"

"We could be at the coast in an hour or so," suggested Greg, "a bit of sea air to blast the cobwebs away, take a picnic?"

"A picnic?" echoed Jackson with a laugh, "it's freezing!"

"It's dry and bright, just stick on an extra jumper," said Aaron, looking happier.

Finn nodded, "Okay then," he said. "I take it you two will sort the food then," he smirked at Greg and including Robbie in his glance.

"Yes," sighed Greg, giving an over the top, melodramatic huff, "if you lot get out of our way," he added, his eyes twinkling.

Needing no second telling, they left Greg and Robbie to put together a picnic. Following Noah from the room, Finn put his hand on his arm, slowing him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, "that was pretty heavy."

"Yeah, I'm fine," replied Noah, ignoring the twisting anxiety gnawing at his guts.

"I'm sorry I asked you about your HIV status; I shouldn't have blurted that out in front of everybody."

"It's okay," said Noah, "compared to everything else, it's not really that important."

"You're not alone now; you know that, don't you?" said Finn earnestly. "We'll do anything we can to help you."

"I should have left four days ago, shouldn't I," said Noah, a slightly sad smile, full of irony, touching hip lips, "directly after I'd spoken to Aaron."

"Probably," agreed Finn cheerfully. "But God moves in mysterious ways..."

"D'you really believe in it? All that God stuff," Noah asked quietly.

"Most of the time," answered Finn. "It wouldn't be natural not to doubt and question sometimes."

"But all that stuff in the Bible..."

"Ah now, believing in the Bible is a completely different question," said Finn, "a book cobbled together by committee that panders to the personal agendas of any number of writers over hundreds of years with as much left out by said committee as included is never going to be easy. If we took every word literally, I'd never be able to have scampi and chips at the pub again and I'd be flung out of the church if the bishop knew where I've got a tattoo." He grinned at Noah. "And don't try to distract me, we'll talk some more about you later." The smile faded, he needed Noah to understand, to accept their friendship and their help.

Noah nodded, too tired to fight him at the moment. "I wouldn't have told you, you know," he said, "if Simon hadn't walked into the bathroom."

"I know," said Finn quietly. "Good job he did then, eh?"

Noah smiled slightly and huffed in resignation. "You should let me go, you know," he said quietly.

Finn shook his head. "So far you've said nothing about where you would go, where there are people who care for you, who would look after you... and at the moment, you need looking after."

"There's still a lot of family at home," admitted Noah quietly.

"But I don't have to be a genius to work out that you don't want to be with them," answered Finn gently. "So will you stop fighting fate and stay here with us for a while, for as long as you want?"

"I can't... your job... what I've done," Noah said awkwardly.

"I seem to remember my boss hung about with prostitutes and tax collectors," answered Finn "and at least you're not a tax collector!"

Noah laughed; a sort, sharp bark of laughter tinged with bemused bitterness. "How can you joke about it?" he asked.

"Because if I don't I might cry," said Finn simply, "everything that's happened; everything they—that man—have been responsible for... and there is so little I can do to put it right. At least let me do this."

"And Greg..." asked Noah softly

"Ask him," smiled Finn, "do you really think he would say anything different to me?"

"Probably not," agreed Noah. "Okay, you win, I'll stay."

"Good," said Finn with a sigh of relief. "I must say, I thought you would put up more of a fight."

"I can't fight, not anymore," said Noah wearily, "suddenly the thought of... just being... is hugely attractive."

Impulsively Finn hugged him," That's settled then," he said. "Is there anyone you need to tell where you will be staying?"

Noah shook his head, "No, most of the aunts know I was involved in what happened in France; I wouldn't put it past them to finish the job!" He snorted bitterly, "They'll be happy enough if I just disappear."

"But you were at home after you returned from France, weren't you?" asked Finn.

"Only briefly, not long enough for them to register that I was there," replied Noah. "I was transferred to hospital first; when I was discharged I just went back to say goodbye..." he stopped, wiping his fingers quickly, almost unconsciously, across his eyes, "...then I left."

"Ah shit," breathed Finn, despairing to himself of the cards Noah had been dealt in life. He believed in God; in his kind, benevolent God, but sometimes... often... he had to question why? What was the plan, the bigger picture he wasn't seeing? "Come on," he said after a moment, "let's get organised for the beach... in December! We must be mad!"


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

"Are you okay?" asked Jackson hesitantly as Aaron slammed a drawer shut in the cupboard in their bedroom.

"Yeah of course I'm okay," snapped Aaron, "why shouldn't I be?" He pulled a second, thicker jumper over his head.

"I just thought... with Noah and everything," tried Jackson hesitantly.

"Well it's not like I can do anything about it; it wasn't my fault." Aaron snarled crossly. He knew it was out of order of him, taking his mood out on Jackson, but the people he really wanted to rail against were out of his reach—forever. "I'm sorry," he sighed, breathing heavily, trying to still the anger firing his blood. "I'll be fine... just give me a bit of space, okay?"

Jackson bit the inside of his mouth and nodded; he turned to grab a thick hoodie for himself, probably getting out for a few hours was the best thing they could do, nothing like battling the elements for getting rid of a bit of tension. Well, he could think of one thing better, but that wasn't going to happen; he smirked a little to himself at the pleasurable thought.

"What?" snarled Aaron as he caught sight of the smile playing unexpectedly on Jackson's lips.

"Nothing," replied Jackson quickly, straightening is face. "Okay..." he continued as he saw Aaron was waiting for him to say more, "...I know you're feeling a bit tense and I was thinking of the best way I know of removing tension. C'mon."

"What's your rush?" said Aaron, quirking an eyebrow at him, "we've got five minutes or so?"

"Five minutes?" questioned Jackson, his tone teasing now.

"Or so," repeated Aaron, "and how long d'you need if it's just a fuck?"

Jackson took a step towards Aaron, closing the distance between their bodies. He slipped one hand behind his neck, roughly pulling Aaron closer until their lips met, clashing hard, hungrily, together as the kiss quickly deepened, teeth nipping as lips were caught up in the need.

Grabbing the front of Aaron's jumper, twisting him hard, Jackson slammed him into the wall behind him without a pause in his urgent kissing. His hand moved to Aaron's groin, the flat of his hand rubbing, feeling his arousal through his trackkies, then cupping his balls and cock, rubbing harder.

"That didn't take long," he growled, his voice low with hot desire. He pushed his crotch hard against Aaron's hip bone, moving, increasing his own arousal with short hard thrusts.

As one they turned towards the bed; Jackson using his body to push Aaron down beneath him as he fumbled hurriedly at the zip on his jeans.

"No! Can I?" gasped Aaron, struggling to half sit up.

Jackson paused for a second, his dark eyes locking on Aaron's blue ones, seeing the need for the moment of oblivion that fucking him hard would give him. In one fluid movement he turned onto the bed, hauling his jeans and boxers clear of his arse as Aaron straddled him.

Aaron slid the loose, elasticated top of his trackkies over his hips, pushing his briefs down with them. He stretched across the width of the bed, reaching his fingertips to their fullest length to pull open the drawer of the bedside table, feeling for the lube he knew was there. Beneath him, he could feel Jackson grinding his hips into the bed, pushing his cock hard against the mattress, seeking release.

Aaron quickly squeezed some of the cold gel onto his fingers, then dropping the lube carelessly to the floor, he stroked his cock, once, twice, then rubbed his finger rapidly over Jackson's hole, smearing the lube before he pushed inside, one finger, another, holding them there for only a brief second as he moved his hips into position.

"Ready?" he growled.

"Yes!" gasped Jackson, raising his hips, pushing back, his arse searching for Aaron's cock.

Aaron paused, taking a moment to appreciate Jackson's need as he moved invitingly underneath him. He eased himself forward, his cockhead nudging Jackson's arse... he pushed, felt Jackson relax to meet him. He pushed harder, entered him, stretching him. He thrust, once, twice, gently at first until unable to hold back any longer, his movements became quicker, more urgent, as he pounded Jackson's arse, filling him.

Beneath him, Jackson groaned as Aaron rammed into him. He couldn't think anymore, only feel, his body drunk on sensation, on the feelings growing within him as the weight of Aaron's body, the power of each thrust pushed him hard into the mattress, crushing his cock and balls, magnifying his own need.

"Ah fuck, Jay," gasped Aaron, each word punctuated by a thrust. He could feel the building tension in his groin, tension climbing higher, his gut contracting, his balls aching as the coming explosion filled his consciousness. Well into his rhythm, the feelings concentrated in his groin spread to his head; nothing else mattered but his cock taking Jackson's arse, the feeling that untied them, joined them. With a sudden gasping, breathless cry, he came, his body shuddering as his release spread through him. Hugging Jackson hard, he rolled, pulling him round until he could grasp his cock, quickly stroking and tugging, knowing Jackson's own climax was close, he moved his hand purposefully, his teeth nipping at the tender skin at his neck.

Jackson came; spurting his load over Aaron's hands and onto the sheets as he gasped for the breath he had been unaware of holding as he strived to heighten the sensations washing over him, through him. Panting, his body glistening with sweat, he slumped into Aaron's arms.

"Shit... that was hot," he breathed, snuggling close against Aaron, the remains of their clothes rumpling uncomfortably between them.

"We should make a move, the others will be waiting on us," muttered Aaron, not moving.

"I thought that only took us five minutes," smirked Jackson, not moving either.

"A bit longer... maybe," Aaron stretched as he spoke; he felt better, that hard fuck had calmed him, released the pent up tension he had felt since hearing Noah's story. It couldn't cure everything though and there was still the heavy weight of something... of sadness... solidly inhabiting his soul.

The bustle of preparation was still in full swing as they returned to the kitchen. The table was piled with plastic tubs and foil-wrapped packages, with bags of crisps and two large thermos flasks. Plastic mugs and plates were already in a basket beside the waiting food. Robbie and Greg still seemed to be busy adding more tubs and covered plates to waiting bags.

"The others are in the den," said Greg as Aaron and Jackson came into the kitchen

"Keeping out of the way," added Robbie.

"We're just about ready," continued Greg, "see if anyone wants coffee before we go, will you?"

Aaron and Jackson made their way to the small, cosy room known as the den. Finn and Noah were slumped together on the sagging but comfortable old sofa, Simon sprawled on the floor at their feet. On the television, an animated Christmas film played quietly, holding their attention.

"Apparently the picnic is ready," announced Jackson, "but Greg wants to know if anyone wants coffee or anything before we go."

"I'm not bothered," answered Simon, twisting around to face them. "Were were you two anyway? No! Don't answer that," he said quickly, seeing the matching smirks crossing their faces.

In less than fifteen minutes they were at the cars; Robbie and Simon, Aaron and Jackson travelling together while Noah climbed into the back seat of Finn and Greg's car.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

In a little over an hour they had reached the coast; the roads had been clear, the car park they found was empty. For a few minutes they sat, not moving from their cars, admiring the view before braving the elements. And the day was very elemental; although bright and sunny, the wind was blowing, buffeting the cars; they could feel the violence of the wind even cocooned as they were.

Finn was the first to step from the car, hanging onto the door to stop the wind whipping it from his hands. He leant back into the car, lifting his thick jacket then shutting the car door before he struggled against the gusts to pull it on. The wind whipped his mop of blond curly hair around his face; he laughed.

"Come on, wimps!" he yelled, the wind taking his words before any of the others had a chance to hear them. But they were all moving now, climbing from the cars, bracing themselves against the gusts.

"This is madness!" exclaimed Aaron.

"It's wonderful!" yelled Simon, jumping into the gusts, letting the wind batter his body, his normal exuberant humour reasserting itself after the emotions of the morning.

Leaving the cars, they followed the shore path, walking into the fierce, bracing wind, trying to make themselves heard as the gusts whipped their words from their mouths, whipped their hair sharply against the skin of their faces.

Noah didn't try to speak; the wind was hard against his fragility, it felt as though it was blowing right through him, lifting him from himself, making him spin like a dried autumn leaf dancing at the beck and call of the powerful breeze that took him relentlessly with it. It felt wonderful, liberating, leaving him nothing to think of for the moment except keeping his feet, keeping his eyes clear.

Quickly the others lost the battle to speak against the noise of the wind, keeping their balance was everything, took all their effort. They caught hold of each other, partners linking arms, bending, braced against the powerful gusts that buffeted them as they walked. Noah found his arm caught by Simon, found himself pulled along, marching in step with his infectious exuberance.

Simon grinned at him, "You okay," he mouthed, any sound to his words lost before they reached Noah.

"Yes!" yelled back Noah, surprised to find that despite everything, despite the tears and wretchedness of earlier in the day, he did feel pretty good; this had been a better idea than he first thought; he felt as though the wind was blowing his past away... or if not away, at least into a less important place, a place where he could deal with it.

Aaron and Jackson walked a pace or two behind the others—the path wasn't wide enough for them to walk in a line abreast—on the almost empty windswept beach Aaron felt comfortable enough to hold Jackson's hand, clumsily through their thick gloves, but unmistakably. Their bodies bumped together as they walked, their eyes catching, holding, as they exchanged knowing smiles full of memories.

It wasn't long before someone made the move away from the group, away from the path and down to the shore, picking up pebbles on the way. The waves were splashing, crashing lustily onto the beach, foaming white horses running quickly forward, dancing before exploding and disappearing back into the roaring sea.

Simon stood at the very edge of the waterline; inches away from getting his boots wet and hurled the pebbles he had collected into the fast churning waters. Breaking away from Jackson, Aaron trotted down the beach and joined him at the shoreline. Casting his eyes about, he found a pebble or two of his own, hurling them in delight into the turbulent waters.

For a few minutes, for a while they were all carefree and enjoying themselves, the cares, the raw emotions pushed deeper inside them by the fun of the moment. The beach, miles and miles of sand and dunes and odd pebbly patches was theirs alone until a pleasant tiredness from battling against the wind, from walking and running and jumping against its power began to wear them down.

"Food time," announced Greg as they began making their way back towards the cars.

"Oh thank goodness," exclaimed Finn in exaggerated relief. "I thought you had forgotten all about the picnic!"

"Well you could have said something if you were that hungry," countered Greg. "Are we going to sit in the cars or at the tables outside that closed cafe just down from the car park?"

In agreement, they made their way to the cafe, closed, its blinds drawn and a fading notice in the window announcing that it would re-open at Easter. But the wooden tables with their benches were still there, bolted into the raised decking looking out over the deserted beach. Robbie and Greg had walked back to the cars, collecting the bags of food, leaving the others to pick the most sheltered table.

There was plenty of food spread across the table; open plastic tubs with a choice of sandwiches, sausage rolls, twists of savoury pastry to dunk in a dips, there was even some salad that Greg had slipped in despite knowing that Finn would tease him for including such a summery food in the middle winter. There was soup too, filling the two large thermos flasks; Robbie handed out the plastic mugs, only Noah refusing.

They ate ravenously, the wind and the walk sharpening their appetites and they demolished most of the food very quickly.

"There's cake back at the cars," said Greg. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm beginning to feel a bit chilly."

"I'm not surprised," answered Finn, "another hour and the sun will be going down." He put his arm around Greg, hugging him, sharing his own warmth.

"Time to head back then," said Jackson, a touch of reluctance in his tone; he had enjoyed the time away, the battle against the powerful elements, not having to think too deeply, to feel. To be able to escape the feelings that buffeted his emotions even as he wind had been buffeting his body so recently; he had found a little shelter from the thoughts that Noah's arrival in their midst still stirred in him in the wild, elemental weather; he would have liked that feeling to last a little longer. He was fine with Noah... really he was... he liked him... what he had been through was awful... his own personal hell... and yet there was still a knot of resentment buried deep within his soul that wished he hadn't appeared amongst them. It had been such a difficult few months; he had felt so awful, so wracked with guilt at what had happened to Aaron. He had been helped to see that it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it, to change what happened and rationally, he accepted, understood that... but there was still something, a grain of doubt, nagging against the comforting platitudes he kept on a loop, running through his mind. Pursing his lips together,he shook himself, trying to batten down the feelings that were beginning to gnaw uncomfortably at the corners of his mind again; _he was fine, it was over, he was fine, there had been nothing he could have done... _he repeated the mantra in his head as he walked.

"I'm so glad we came out for the day," Aaron almost bounced at his side, catching his arm and dancing around him. He felt so alive, euphoric and totally buzzing after being battered and buffeted by the wind. He knew they had to think about heading back—he was feeling the cold as much as any of them—and it would be getting dark fairly soon, but part of him wished he could hold on to this feeling for longer, sometimes real life was tricky.

Back at the car, Greg handed a foil-wrapped package of cake across to Robbie in the front passenger seat. Simon slid into the driving seat; they had driven north in his car for the holidays, now Aaron and Jackson slid into the back seat, Aaron moving close to Jackson, grinning at him, not picking up on his troubled mood, so successfully was he hiding it.

By the time they had finished the cake and pulled out of the car park the early winter twilight was already falling fast. As they fastened their seat belts, Aaron pulled Jackson towards him then held out the centre belt. Once they were both safely strapped in, he slid his arm around Jackson's shoulder, pulling him closer still. Then he worked his way into a more comfortable position and began nuzzling Jackson's ear, gently at first, using only his lips and tongue before bringing his teeth into play and nipping at the firm folds of skin.

Jackson relaxed, closing his eyes, letting the teasing sensations wash over him, pushing the uncomfortable feelings from earlier away from the forefront of his mind. For a few minutes he was content, enjoying Aaron's attention, then he turned his head, letting his lips find Aaron's, letting them kiss, chaste, respectable kisses at first, only as Jackson felt a familiar stirring centring on his groin, did he let his kisses grow more demanding.

They slid lower in the back seat; with the arm already around his shoulder, Aaron pulled Jackson closer to him, his other hand began snaking over Jackson's abdomen, his fingers searching for a gap to reach through his jacket, the hoodie he wore underneath, to his tee shirt or even, if he was lucky, to skin. He smiled up at Jackson, his eyes glinting with mischief; a look that even in the half darkness, Jackson couldn't fail to notice.

Jackson groaned.

Quickly, before Robbie had fully turned round, they had both struggled to sit further up, further apart.

"You guys okay?" asked Robbie, his voice full of concern, "not feeling car sick, are you?"

Reassurance, denials came easily to their lips and for a few minutes they gazed from the car windows, ignoring each other until Robbie's concerned glances stopped as he talked quietly with Simon.

Aaron's hand reached across to Jackson's groin; he rubbed, pressing down firmly and easily felt Jackson's growing hard on. He looked at Jackson, holding his eyes for a minute before he looked away. His fingers felt for the zip; grasping the toggle, he began to ease the zip lower, carefully, quietly, not wanting to draw attention from the front seats to his actions. Still keeping his gaze resolutely out of the window, his fingers then found the single button at the waistband and slipped it undone, glad that Jackson didn't bother with a belt.

Catching his breath, he slid his fingers through the open gap in Jackson's trousers, meeting the soft material of his boxers. Beside him, he heard the quick intake of Jackson's breath, felt him open his legs a little wider even as he pulled his scarf from his neck, bundling it in his lap.

Aaron felt skin and the soft curls of hair at Jackson's groin. He stretched his fingers a little further, finding his cock hard now and let his hand gently begin to stroke upwards, encircling it as he stroked, caressing, letting his thumb slide over his slit. Beside him, he heard Jackson hiss quietly as he sucked air between his teeth. Aaron smiled to himself in the darkness; he had him... it could be over quickly or he could make it last for many of the miles back to the vicarage.

Jackson drew his breath in quickly through his teeth; Aaron's hand felt so good on him, banishing the returning gloomy thoughts of earlier. He slid lower in the seat, hiding their activities with his scarf and resting his head back on the seat, he let the feelings spread from his cock, his groin, through his body.

Slowly Aaron moved his hand, savouring each moment. He glanced at Jackson, he thought he had his eyes closed; it was hard to see in the darkness, in the only illumination the flashing of passing car lights, of streetlights as they passed through villages and the far outskirts of the city.

Teasing, playing, he enjoyed the slow caresses, making Jackson wait, feeling his growing excitement held in check as he let the tension build. He knew, he felt, the moment when he had to change his movements, when the slow caresses weren't enough and he increased his rhythm, feeling Jackson, unable to help himself, move his hips with him even while trying not to draw attention to their activities.

His hand moved quickly now, performing the familiar strokes that he knew would make Jackson cum and cum quickly. He felt a pulsating throb begin, build and grow within Jackson, heard him trying to stifle his ragged breath, felt his warmth as he came over his hand.

Jackson bit down on his lip, trying to be quiet as he gave himself up to the feelings, the sensation flooding his body. Aaron worked him quickly now, skilfully; he could feel his balls tightening, his body coiling in on itself as he paused on the precipice of release, as he crashed, cascading over the edge, his body shuddering as he came all over Aaron's busy hand. He clamped his own hand, his fingers curled tightly amongst the folds of his scarf, down onto Aaron's, lifting his hips hard against their fisted hands, prolonging the spasms consuming him.

As they struggled to silently regain their breath, they gazed out of opposite windows.


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

The lights of Hexhamappeared and within a few more minutes they were pulling up behind Finn and Greg's car outside the vicarage. The lights were already blazing from some of the windows of the building; the other car had been more than a few minutes ahead of them. Robbie was first from the car and into the house.

"Enjoy the journey?" asked Simon, a smirk in his voice.

"Er... yeah... it was okay," mumbled Aaron, glancing quickly at Jackson.

"You enjoy it too, Jackson?" persisted Simon.

"Erm..." Jackson prevaricated, unsure what to say but glad the darkness of the drive hid his blushes.

"We know one of you was getting a bit of attention," said Simon gleefully, unable to contain his laughter any more. "You really weren't very quiet! I hope you didn't get cum all over the upholstery."

"No," said Jackson ruefully, "my scarf caught it all. Sorry."

"Hey! Don't be sorry," laughed Simon, "we were well entertained, but I think Robbie was just a bit 'uncomfortable' not getting any himself. Which I need to go and remedy," he added as they pushed open the back porch door into the small hall that led to the kitchen.

Everyone was in the warm room, bustling around; already the kettle was on for coffee, Noah was reaching for mugs, Finn was carrying the wherewithal to light the sitting room fire through to that room and Greg was emptying the bags that had held the picnic.

Simon caught hold of Robbie's hand tugging him gently, meaning him to follow. "We'll get our coffee in a while," he said to no one in particular. "There's just something I need to take care of first." Giving Robbie no choice but to follow him, they disappeared from the room.

Finn soon had the fire roaring in the sitting room and they spent the remainder of the evening sprawled on sofas, on the floor, entwined together in their respective couples. They lazily watched the television, the typical Boxing Day feast of game shows, comedy shows and Christmas specials. They were still full enough from their picnic that they didn't want to cook and there were still plenty of leftovers for sandwiches when they got hungry.

They sat the fire out until there was nothing but embers glowing in the grate, all of them too comfortable, too relaxed to move before the quickly cooling room drove them into action.

Noah was the first to stand, stretching and yawning.

"I'm heading up," he said quietly, his tired voice reflecting the exhausting emotions of the long day. "G'night everyone."

"We'll be right behind you," replied Simon, clambering up from where he had been lounging on the floor. He turned to pull Robbie up beside him. He gathered a fist full of mugs and followed Noah from the room.

"You okay Noah?" he asked softly when they were both in the hall.

"I'm fine, just tired," answered Noah, yawning even as he spoke to emphasise his words.

"Sleep well then," said Simon. "You know where we are if you need us... for anything."

"Thanks."

Simon replied with a smile; he reached out, rubbing his hand up and down Noah's arm, a wordless gesture filled with comfort. For a moment their eyes held.

"Night Noah," whispered Simon, before he turned and headed towards the kitchen.

In their room, Jackson flipped the switch on the small bedside light, not bothering to put on the main light. He flung himself down, still fully clothed, onto the bed.

"God! I'm shattered," he exclaimed, "it's been some day!"

"It so has!" Aaron flopped onto the bed beside him. "How are you feeling?"

Jackson turned his head and looked at him; he bit his lip as he considered his answer. "I'm okay really, it's just... it's all still a bit weird and just occasionally it freaks me out, but I'm fine, honestly."

"Spoken to Dora recently?" murmured Aaron quietly, not looking back at him.

"Not since the evening Noah arrived," admitted Jackson, "you?"

"Just quickly this morning," said Aaron, "when I went to the loo before we went out. It helped."

"Bet she didn't say anything though," Jackson chuckled, thinking of their friend, their counsellor, the wise woman who could wave some sort of magic over them that they didn't understand but somehow worked for them.

"She had a good Christmas and was run ragged by her grandkids," smiled Aaron. "She's expecting us for a visit after new year."

"Oh lord," groaned Jackson, "just remind me not to drink that Italian home brew she poured into us last time—gave me the hangover from hell!"

"She won't if you need to talk," said Aaron, "but a social visit is just lethal."

"We'll take our own lager," muttered Jackson, "head her off at the pass with that."

Aaron chuckled and snuggled closer into Jackson. "It's funny though," he paused, thinking. "Sometimes it feels as though I have got it all sorted in my head, then at other times, usually when I'm not expecting anything, something happens and for a while I feel like a total wreck again." His voice drifted to nothing as he became lost in his thoughts. "Doesn't last now though," he added briskly a second or two later, consciously dragging his mind back to the present. "We should get undressed."

"We should," agreed Jackson, stretching away from Aaron, spreading his arms and opening his legs a little. "Go on then," he growled, his voice suddenly husky, "undress me."

Aaron looked at his boyfriend, at his chocolate brown eyes huge and darker than ever in the dim light, eyes full of hunger and lust. He reached out, his fingers drifting lightly over Jackson's chest, finding the tab of the zipper keeping his hoodie closed; he unzipped it, exposing the line of buttons on his shirt. Slowly, so slowly he began one-handed to undo each button. He could feel his heart beginning to beat a little faster, his pulse beginning to race as his excitement grew. But still he went slowly, he didn't need to rush this; they had all night after all.


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

The limbo days between Christmas and New Year drifted lazily by; only Finn had calls upon his time, duties at the Abbey, visits to parishioners, the old and the sick to make. For the others, the days had the slow, dreamy haze of the holiday as they alternated between hibernating from the worst of the weather and going out in short, frenetic bursts to stave off the confines of the house.

But by the penultimate day of the year, even Finn was free and they loaded the cars for the journey south to Emmerdale. Noah had protested at first, saying he would go somewhere by himself for the New Year—they had their own plans—he promised that he would come back to the Vicarage when they returned. The answering protestations that he would do no such thing, that he would come with them to Emmerdale, brought the sharp sting of tears to his eyes, tears that he blinked quickly away as he tried to divert them from their plan. It was only after he had listened to Aaron talking to Lisa, giving her the barest outline of the story, and asking if another guest for the New Year celebrations would be a problem; listened as he held the phone away from his ear letting him hear Lisa's enthusiastic assertion that their friend would be welcome, that he finally agreed to go with them

Wintery weather dogged their journey to Emmerdale, slowing them and it was already mid afternoon twilight by the time the two cars pulled up outside Smithy Cottage.

"Coffee before you go?" Aaron asked Robbie and Simon as he pushed open the back door of the car.

"Just a quick one then," said Robbie, answering for them both although it had been Simon driving, battling the snow flurries and heavier, almost white out conditions on the journey south.

They all piled into Smithy, suddenly filling the small cottage. Hearing them, Paddy appeared from the surgery even as Hazel called a welcome from the kitchen. For a few minutes it was chaos as Noah was introduced to first Paddy, then Hazel between coffee being produced, biscuits found and conversation conducted haphazardly between them all, the volume, the laughter rising as they struggled to follow all that was happening.

"You boys stopping for tea?" asked Hazel, looking at Robbie and Simon. "I've cooked a fresh ham and there are jacket potatoes and masses of salad. I told Lisa I'd feed you lot before you go up to Wishing Well," she added as an aside, speaking to Finn, Greg and Noah.

"What! No chicken curry?" exclaimed Simon, sounding aggrieved.

"Get away with you!" scoffed Hazel laughing. "You'd think I couldn't cook anything else. So are you stopping or what?"

Simon looked at Robbie, wordlessly exchanging questions and answers. "Okay then, thanks Hazel."

In a matter of moments Hazel was handing out steaming bowls of soup to each of them, thick and homemade and perfect for the weather.

Noah took the proffered bowl, unable to do anything else as he tried to hide his dismay; the soup looked and smelt delicious, while Hazel was in the room he took a tentative sip from his spoon... another... it would be so easy to scoff the lot.

"It's okay," Simon thrust his bowl into Robbie's surprised hands. "We can explain later, for now..." he grabbed Noah's bowl then turning to Robbie, slurped a little into his own bowl, then some into Robbie's. Quickly understanding, Finn held out his own bowl as the others copied him.

By the time Hazel returned to the room, seven empty bowls awaited her. "I'll just pile the food on your plates in the kitchen," she said, bustling busily about the room, squeezing between the young men seeming to fill every space.

"No salad for Noah," sang out Simon, "he doesn't do green stuff!" He looked at Noah, a small smile that said "there, sorted," touching his lips as they looked each other for a moment longer than necessary.

Noah returned his smile.

In a matter of moments, Hazel returned, a plate in each hand and passed the first one, minus green stuff, to Noah, the second went to Finn.

"Wait, I'll give you a hand," said Robbie, jumping up and following her as she returned to the kitchen, returning in seconds with plates that he handed to Aaron and Jackson as Hazel gave Simon and Greg their plates. He made a final journey to collect the last plate on the kitchen work top.

"You not having anything?" he asked Hazel as she bustled about the room, tidying the debris left from making their meal.

"Paddy and I had a late lunch at the pub, Marlon's mega toasties, so we'll have something later," she explained.

Robbie took his meal back through to the crowded living room and perched on the arm of the sofa to eat.

"Well that was very tasty," said Finn a few minutes later, stretching backwards and admiring his empty plate on his lap.

"It was," agreed Simon. "Thanks Hazel," he yelled, calling to the crashing pots and pans that indicated Hazel was still busy in the kitchen. "I suppose we need to think about heading home?" he looked across at Robbie.

"Umm," Robbie grunted; full and warm, it was a thought to move, to go again out into the cold winter evening. "I suppose so," he muttered.

"You know so," countered Simon, making no more effort to move than Robbie.

"We should move too," said Greg, "get up to Liza and Zac's before it gets too late."

"We'll come up with you," said Aaron, "say 'hi', give the van a run."

Despite their intention to move, it was still almost an hour later before they piled out of Smithy, bidding a temporary goodbye to Paddy and Hazel; they would all be seeing the New Year in the next evening at Wishing Well Cottage.

They waved Simon and Robbie off, watching the tail lights of the car disappear into the night for their short journey home to Hotton. Finn and Greg climbed into the front of their car, Finn taking the driver's seat, while Noah climbed into the back seat and nestled back into the comfortable seats silently trying to dispel the resurgent nerves at the prospect of meeting yet more new people. Jackson and Aaron climbed into their blue van, full now of the tools of Jackson's building trade, ready for his return to work after the New Year and followed the other car as it left the centre of the village for the short journey to Wishing Well Cottage.

Aaron knocked briefly at the door, not waiting for an answer as he pushed it open.

"Aaron love! and Jackson, come away in out of the cold!" Lisa turned away from the oven; she had been peering inside, checking, as they came through the door. "Where are the others?" she asked, wiping her hands on the apron that surrounded her comfortable midriff.

"Just grabbing their stuff from the car," explained Aaron, flopping down on the old, blanket covered sofa.

"Well go and catch them and tell them to take it straight up to Sam's flat, I've just put them all in there..." she paused, looking worried, "...I hope that's alright... this other lad you've brought with you..."

"Noah'll be fine with that," said Jackson reassuringly. "I'll go and tell them," moving back towards the door, closing it quietly behind him.

"Did Hazel give you your tea?" asked Lisa, bustling about in the small kitchen, "I know she said she was going to... I've got a sponge in the oven and there are plenty of bits and pieces to make sandwiches if they're hungry later; I know what you boys are like."

"Thanks Lisa," replied Aaron, twisting to watch her. "I'm sure Finn, Greg and Noah won't starve then, with you on the case."

Lisa chuckled. "Stick the kettle on, love; make tea or coffee for everyone."

"Where's Uncle Zac?" asked Aaron, moving to busy himself at the sink, filling the kettle before placing it back on its stand to boil. Even after all this time, after a year of knowing, Aaron couldn't call him granddad anymore than he could call Cain by anything other than his name.

"Having a pint at the Woolie," answered Lisa, "he'll be back shortly. So..." she turned and looked at him, her hands on her hips, "...did you have a nice Christmas?"

For a few minutes they chatted easily, comparing Christmases, until they heard the sounds of voices approaching the front door, voices talking, laughing; the familiar tone of his boyfriend, those of his friends and rumbling jovially amongst them, the deeper tones of his Uncle Zac.

The door burst open, a blast of cold air accompanying the five men as they entered the cottage. They jostled their way to the fire, all of them trying to steal a little of the heat after the cold of the night air hitting them as they flitted between the warmth of their car, Sam's cosy apartment and now into the cottage.

Zac flopped into his favourite chair, sighing contentedly, only to stand again seconds later as Finn pulled Noah forward introducing him, first to Lisa, then Zac.

"We hope you'll enjoy your stay, love," exclaimed Lisa, clasping him to her in an unexpected hug.

"Aye... you're very welcome, son," added Zac, holding his hand out to Noah as Lisa released him from her embrace.

"Thank you for letting me tag along, join the party,"he said shyly, looking between Zac and Lisa.

"Get away with you love," chuckled Lisa, "the more the merrier, especially at this time of the year. I just hope our lot aren't too much for you tomorrow."

"He'll be fine," grinned Finn, "we'll look after him and he's not quite such a delicate flower as he looks."

"And we'll protect him from Chas and Charity if they start hitting the white wine," added Jackson cheerfully. "That's his mum and... aunt... cousin?" He glanced at Aaron for clarification; some of the intricacies of Dingle relationships still mystified him.

Aaron shrugged. "It's every man for himself when those two start," he said, most unreassuringly.

"Take no notice, lad, they're joking," said Zac. "Did you say there was cake, Lisa?"

For a few minutes Lisa was busy producing cake from tins; not the cake that was still in the oven, still cooking, filling the cottage with warm, comforting smells, as Aaron finished making the mugs of coffee and handing them round, ignoring Zac's hopeful glance towards the fridge where tins of lager lurked awaiting his attention.

Aaron and Jackson only stayed long enough to have their coffee then say goodbye to their friends in the privacy of the small apartment above the barn next to the cottage. They agreed to meet the following day to do... something... before the evening party to see in the New Year.

In the quiet of the night an hour or so later, Noah lay in the darkness, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the building around him settling to sleep. He could feel a flutter of nerves thrilling through his body, anticipation unsettling him. He knew he would fall asleep soon, he was tired but he couldn't help the slight dread of the coming party clouding the last thoughts of his day.

A mile or so distant, at the other end of Emmerdale in Smithy Cottage, Aaron and Jackson were lying in each other's arms, sweaty and sated after their urgent and passionate lovemaking. The room was dim, only the faint orange glow from the street lamp outside their window casting enough light for them to see each other, to see the smile in their eyes, before they slept, entwined.


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

There were multi-coloured fairly lights twisted around the porch and fences at the front door of Wishing Well Cottage and they could hear the music, loud and cheerful, even before the car engine sputtered into silence. Once again Aaron and Jackson were travelling with Simon and Robbie, they were all going to crash with Finn, Greg and Noah for whatever remained of the night after the celebrations were over; Aaron pulled a couple of carrier bags with him as he climbed out of the car.

"I'll go and stow these up in the loft," he said, lifting the two bags in explanation as he peeled away from the others and moved towards the outside steps of the barn. "Catch you up," he called back to them.

Jackson led the way to the front door; despite the cold, it stood open and as they got closer they could hear the excited chatter of many voices partying even above the beat of the music. It seemed as though most of Emmerdale was there, filling the small cottage to bursting point. Already people were dancing, finding space to move, to sway in time to the music amongst those happy to stand and drink and talk. Jackson spied their friends, Finn and Greg talking to Chas, Noah standing quietly, his head tipped to one side as he listened to the conversation.

They made their way to the table heavily laden with a wide choice of alcohol, choosing a can of lager each, Jackson taking an extra one for Aaron. He surveyed the crammed table; they had been up to the cottage earlier in the day, dropping off a contribution from all of them to the party supplies. There was certainly no danger of running out of booze any time soon, or food; he looked at the plates perched on every available, Lisa had done the night proud.

Weaving their way towards their friends, Simon reached them first and slipped his hands onto Noah's shoulders, feeling him flinch at the sudden touch.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump," Simon apologised speaking close to his ear in an effort to make himself heard above the noise of the music. "Are you coping with all this?"

"Yeah," smiled Noah, although there was a hint of something, sadness, regret, memories he would rather not revisit, caught in it. Last New Year he had been working, the party had been exclusive, if he closed his eyes he could still see the twinkling harbour lights spread below him, feel the warmth of the night as he stood on the balcony paying discreet attention to his employer for the evening. "Finn introduced me to Aaron's mum... she's a bit..."

Simon laughed. "She is a bit, isn't she! But stick with us, we'll keep you safe!" He draped his arm around Noah's shoulder.

Noah relaxed against Simon, finding comfort in his closeness; he was happy enough just watching the party evolve around him, never far from Simon or one of the other men he knew. He took a drink of the wine he was nursing and glanced around the room.

Aaron slid between close packed bodies to reach Jackson; smiling he took the extra can from him and popped it open, drinking deeply. "Going well so far."

"Give it time," returned Jackson, "there's hours yet for it to get messy."

"You know us too well," laughed Aaron. He glanced round him, all his convoluted family were there, lots of people from the village; it was as loud and noisy as Christmas had been simple and calm. He knew someone would start singing, probably sooner rather than later, he knew they'd all be pulled up to dance; he knew by the morning the bodies would be littering the cottage and hangovers would be rampant. He slid his free hand against Jackson's, gently entwining their fingers, hidden from view. "Promise me you'll rescue me," he laughed, bumping against Jackson.

"So long as you rescue me if I need it," countered Jackson, grinning at him.

"Who's this?" A blonde woman pushed her way to where Noah was standing still with Simon's arm around him, Finn to his other side.

"He's mine," squealed Chas, insinuating herself between them, "I saw him first, push off Charity." She started batting ineffectually at Charity's arm, trying to push her away.

"Don't be silly, Chas," scoffed Charity, "he obviously doesn't play for our team..." she nodded to the three men standing close together before turning back to Noah, "although if you ever want to make sure... then I'm your woman." She looked up at him boldly, her low cut top exposing the freckles on the gentle curves of her pale breasts.

"Ladies," chuckled Finn, knowing they were teasing, hoping that Noah would understand that too. "Charity, this is a friend of ours, Noah." He turned towards Noah, smiling reassuringly at him. They had agreed beforehand that they would remain vague and give no details of Noah's past, should anyone ask. "Noah, this is Charity, Chas's cousin."

Noah smiled shyly; these women were quite overwhelming, if he had met them in his former life he would have been fine, would have known how to flatter them, wrap them round his little finger. This felt so different.

"Aww, he's so cute," giggled Charity, bumping into Chas as they both bent double against each other with laughter, some female in-joke that meant something only to them. Their glasses of wine clinked and splashed against each other, making them laugh even more.

"More wine, ladies?" Robbie appeared with a bottle of white, he held it up for Chas and Charity to examine the label.

"That'll do," hiccupped Chas, holding out her not quite empty glass.

"You're so well trained," giggled Charity, tottering on her heels. "Such a waste!"

"Come on, let's go and find you two some food," said Robbie, putting an arm around each of them as they stumbled unsteadily together once more, "can't have you collapsing before the Bells." Deftly he steered them back into the kitchen.

From his vantage point on the staircase, Cain surveyed the room below him, watching the play and interaction between all the guests as they spread through the house and out into the yard. He felt tense, tetchy, he didn't like this time of the year, the New Year, the false bonhomie, the false new starts as though the mistakes of the past year could be swept under the carpet and the slate was miraculously wiped clean. His eyes rested on Aaron, the slightest smile touched his lips, lifting his mood a fraction; a year... it had been a whole year. His eyes travelled over the people gathered and paused, puzzled. He wove his way down the remaining few stairs and picked up another can of lager from the table—he'd lost count of how many cans he had already downed during the evening but he didn't feel drunk, only... tetchy. He spun on his heel and began to move across the room.

They were still there, Simon with his arm draped around that other lad they had brought with them and Finn standing too close on the other side of them; it all looked far too cosy. Cain scowled, wondering what they were up to and why it bothered him so much.

"This all looks very nice... friendly like," he growled, coming to a halt behind them. "Going for a cosy little threesome now are you vicar? I didn't think that was your style." His eyes blazed angrily as he spoke, masking the wounds he suddenly felt raw inside; these were Aaron's friends, people he trusted; why were they suddenly doing something like this?

"Cain!" Finn spat the word, glaring at him through the clear implication of his words. "How could you! You know nothing!" Even as he spoke, he pushed Noah roughly towards Simon, hoping he hadn't heard Cain's cruel taunt.

Cain watched them move a few feet away; he glanced to the ground, scuffing his boot against the worn carpet.

"He's Archie's brother." Greg materialised at Cain's shoulder. "Remember Archie. I'm sorry, we should have told you." He spoke quietly but Cain could hear every word with surprising clarity despite the noise.

"Think of what you know happened to Aaron; think of what you imagined happened to Aaron," Greg said, pausing to let his words sink in. "Now double it... treble it... and what happened to him is still probably worse than anything you can imagine. Cut them some slack Cain, all of them."

Cain lifted his eyes, surprised to see the flashing anger in the usually calm Greg's eyes, he looked away, embarrassed.

"We should have told you," repeated Greg, "but he was so badly hurt... he barely survived and is still recovering. I'm sorry," he repeated.

"I'm sorry," echoed Cain, struggling to quell the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. "I didn't know... they just looked so... strange... together."

"They're just friends," said Greg, his voice kinder now, "just giving comfort where it's so badly needed."

"It looks like more, with Simon—and Finn. How's Aaron?" said Cain, his voice faltering.

"He's fine... he's ok... coping," qualified Greg. "Just let them do what they need to," he put a reassuring hand briefly to Cain's arm, "and don't bitch." He smiled at last.

"Catch you later," muttered Cain; his composure was almost gone, he needed to get away, to think. He needed to apologise to Finn, to Simon... and the lad, but later. He turned, hastily moving towards the door, towards the fresh, bitter air that he needed to ground himself.

Greg watched him go; they should have said something he thought again. They all knew, they shared a unique bond, a unique comfort and hadn't considered anyone else. He sighed and eased through the milling bodies towards Finn.

Finn rarely felt such blazing anger; he didn't think Noah had heard Cain's quietly growled words, but they were echoing in his mind. He had seen Greg speaking to him but was still glaring at the place Cain had been even as Greg was moving back towards him.

"He didn't understand," said Greg quietly, the hint of a sad smile touching his lips. "You know he's got you on such a high pedestal, don't you? He thought you were about to be unfaithful to me. We should have warned them... we should have told them something. And then he was worried about Aaron." Greg slid into silence.

"You found out a lot in a short conversation," said Finn, still sounding cross.

Greg smiled. "It's Cain, we can both read him like a book, he just caught you off guard."

"I didn't think..." Finn spoke hesitantly but the anger had gone from his eyes. "Why do I feel like I'm walking on eggshells all of a sudden?"

"Because we all are," said Greg mater of factly. "We're all feeling our way, we thought we were protecting Noah by saying absolutely nothing but have just discovered we need to tell people something before they jump to bizarre conclusions."

Finn grunted and moved to stand closer to Greg, dropping his head awkwardly sideways to rest on his partner's shoulders. "I'm sorry, I'll speak to him, explain."

"I told him who Noah is," admitted Greg, his arm sneaking around Finn's waist, his fingers weaving their way between his heavy jumper and the waistband of his jeans, rubbing a reassuring circle through the thin tee shirt covering his flank. "I needed to say something, give him some explanation," added Greg quickly as Finn opened his mouth.

"You're right, of course," sighed Finn, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had gathered. "What a mess!"

Greg shook his head, "No, it's not a mess; it's a hellish situation none of us know how to deal with and we're all doing our best. We're bound to cock it up sometimes."

Finn smiled at him; he turned slightly, further into his arms and lent forward, catching his lips briefly in a kiss


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Cain turned on his heel;he needed to get away, to think. The remark had been out of his mouth before he had even thought about it, before he had considered that there must be a reason for Finn to be standing so intimately against the unknown man. Simon too, holding him so close. He wondered where Robbie was. He shook his head, grabbing another can of lager as he made his way from the room. He felt sick; he had lost many nights sleep as his imagination had played scene after possible scene recounting the hours of Aaron's kidnap. And now to hear that this unknown man was the brother of the man who had died... and had experienced something himself. He cursed himself silently for his quick, sarcastic tongue; for the impulsive flare of bitterness and disappointment that had flooded his mind, pushing reason aside, as he saw something he couldn't understand and interpreted wrongly.

The cold night air bit his face as he pushed through the door; the smell of the frost assailed him, he moved to stand at the fence surrounding the enclosure of the sleeping pigs. He would have to speak to Finn, apologise; it hurt him more than he cared to admit, being on the receiving end of that man's ire. A wave of nausea swept over him; he would have blamed the beer if he'd had more than a couple of cans to drink. Quickly he pulled himself along the fence, feeling his way, needing to get away from the light falling from the open doorway and the twinkling fairy lights before his stomach rebelled. Wretching, he stumbled away from the building, the tumbled distress of his emotions made physical as he spewed his guts, alone but for the sleeping pigs.

In Wishing Well Cottage, Simon watched him go. He was standing a little behind Noah, still with his arms around him where he had steadied him after Finn's less than gentle shove, getting him away from Cain's poisonous comment. He could see pale flesh where Noah's jumper and tee shirt gaped, exposing his neck. Unable to resist, Simon slowly bent his head forward, resting his lips there for a moment. Then he kissed that soft, seductive arc of skin.

Noah felt Simon's warm breath a second before he felt the touch of his lips on his neck. He closed his eyes—he couldn't help it—arching backwards so slightly, into the kiss, welcoming it. The room, the people enjoying the party, his new friends—Robbie—everything receded, for a few seconds nothing mattered but the man nuzzling into him.

"Who's the Neanderthal?" he asked at last, searching for something to distract him. Distract them.

"That's Cain," murmured Simon, "Aaron's dad—although he's only known that for the last year... before that he was his uncle. Long story," he added. "He struggles... but he loves Aaron and he and Finn are actually pretty close... Finn can reach him... he just... growls a lot."

Noah nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the empty space where Cain had been standing. He couldn't worry about it now. He had more to think about with Simon standing so close behind him, pressing their bodies close. And then Simon moved into his line of vision and Noah could see the heat burning in his eyes, a mirror to the feelings unleashed within his body.

The minutes were ticking away; it was almost midnight, almost the New Year, almost the time for new beginnings. Aaron and Jackson had spent some time talking to family and friends, moving around the room avoiding family and friends.

Aaron glanced at his watch, it was almost time. "Come on," he said to Jackson, grabbing at his sleeve, pulling him along. "Get your coat and another couple of cans."

Jackson followed his instructions, not quite sure what he was intending but happy to follow his lead.

Aaron pulled him towards the door then outside, leading him around the side of the house and beyond the untidy clutter of outbuildings until they reached the dark and dormant waste of the winter vegetable patch. The ground beneath their feet was frozen solid in uneven furrows and their steps stumbled as they crossed it to the far fence.

"Where are we going?" questioned Jackson as Aaron led him determinedly onwards.

"Just as far as the fence," replied Aaron as if that explained everything.

It was an old fence, made from whole branches haphazardly hammered to tree trunk posts; in places bushes and creepers grew against it and over it. Aaron followed it for a few yards before stopping.

"We can see the lights of the village from here," he explained, pulling Jackson in front of him as he pressed close behind him, draping his arms around his neck. "And we should be able to hear the bells from the church at midnight," Aaron murmured, his nose pressed against the scarf Jackson had wrapped around his neck.

Jackson looked in the direction Aaron pointed; in the far distance he could see tiny, twinkling orange lights, the street lights of Emmerdale. It was quiet, even the music from the party was fading with the distance they had come from the cottage.

The stood close together, comfortable in the cold silence, their bodies finding warmth where they leant against each other.

In the crystal cold night air, suddenly the faint sound of bells ringing reached them across the empty countryside.

"It's midnight, New Year," breathed Aaron, leaning forward, kissing, nipping at Jackson's ear. "Happy New Year, Jay."

"And you, babe." Jackson turned in his arms and hugged Aaron to him as his lips searched for Aaron's and he kissed him deeply. "We've got a whole new year ahead of us, a blank page. Who knows what it's gonna bring."

As the bells faded in the distance, they kissed again.

**And that's where I finished writing. Mostly because the story was about to go off at a huge tangent that had nothing to do with Aaron and Jackson. I had been aware that it was going to go that way ever since Simon met Noah in the bathroom on Boxing Day morning and to be honest, that's the story I wanted to tell, but it doesn't have any place in an Emmerdale fan fiction universe.**

**So that is my time writing about Aaron and Jackson over. Even with the possibility of Aaron returning to Emmerdale, I won't be writing about him anymore. It's been great fun but it's time to move on. Huge thanks to everyone who has read my stories, those who have left such encouraging comments and those who have just read them and hopefully enjoyed them. Much love, Ginny. x**


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